Waiting
by Becca Bing
Summary: Can a broken heart ever be pieced back together? {CnM}
1. The Waiting Room

**_Waiting_**_ – Chapter 1_

_The Waiting Room_

**_A/N: _**_Hey! I know I have another fic to finish, but I've been feeling **very **uninspired lately. Things haven't exactly been peachy lately, to tell ya the truth. When this idea came along, I just had to write it. This is an alternate universe fanfic. Chandler and Monica don't know each other; Monica knows Ross and Rachel, Chandler knows Joey and Phoebe. Yes, very trite, so sue me. :p (Actually, please don't sue me. I've got nothing to my name!) Oh and Monica doesn't live across the hall from Chandler (although, I guess that's fairly obvious, since the two of them don't know each other). Uhh, I think that's all you have to know to start off. Anyway, I hope this isn't crap, since lately I've felt like that's all my brain has been spitting out. Please leave me a review, thanks! :) Eee and thanks to Waffle (Dupton) for his emotional support. :p_

**_Disclaimer: _**_I do not own the characters in this fanfic, but if you want to pretend I do, I would not argue. ;)_

Chandler entered the waiting room. For a moment, he just stared at the faces surrounding him. There were five people in the room. One of them was a balding man, who looked to be in his early 40's. His skin was pale, and his cheeks were pink, like he'd just been out in the cold.  Chandler noted the blond hair at the sides of his head; it was golden, like sand at the beach. Chandler shuddered. He hated the beach – hated the water in general. Showers were two minutes of frantic washing that Chandler wished with all of his heart that he could avoid. 'Damn society,' he thought, as he tried to release the picture of the beach from his mind. However, the harder he tried, the more the image burned a hole inside his brain, shooting down to his eyelids, filling him to the tips of his fingers. 

He took a seat beside a large woman, who sat with her purse on her lap as she read from _Vogue_. Her short hair barely covered her face, hidden deep within the crevices of her skin. Chandler could not help but envy this woman. Here he was, as protruding as a lone duckling during hunting season, when she could just disappear within herself. How he wished he could disappear. He wished he could roll up inside of his skin and never come out again. 

Chandler forced his attention away from the woman. He had a way of fixating on figures that would catch no one else's eye. That was something he had acquired at an early age – the ability to lose his thoughts in other people. "He's just a people watcher, that's all," his mother would explain to those who felt uncomfortable under the young Chandler's unwavering gaze.  People did it all the time with celebrities – collected their autographs, videotaped TV appearances. However, in his case, he collected their pictures in his mind, remembering the way they flipped their hair or scratched their ears.

The other three women in the room were of little interest to Chandler. They each had the same air of contempt surrounding them, as if they'd already been wary of the first four people in the room, but now that there was a fifth, they were not going to pretend they were okay with the crowd. Chandler shook his head. One of these women was staring at the wall, her gaze so focused that Chandler feared her eyes would bore a hole right through the wall. He wished she would stop looking at the wall like that. Images of the building collapsing around them, once that wall fell, filled his mind. 

That was the problem with waiting rooms, though. It gave those waiting in them too much time to think. 'They should call it a dancing room, get a disco ball, and play nonstop music,' he decided bitterly, 'That way no one'll ever have to sit in here and bore a hole into that damned white wall again.' Well, either that, or they should at least put in cafeteria. Chandler's stomach growled, as the receptionist typed away at her computer, callused toward those waiting in the waiting room, just waiting for the waiting to end. 

The sand-hair man cracked his knuckles, causing everyone to look over at him. If his cheeks hadn't already been so rosy, Chandler was sure he would have been blushing. 'What a horrible way to live life,' Chandler decided, 'Embarrassed by your own knuckle cracking _and _having sand for hair. It's as if his soul never stood a chance for happiness.'

The sound of incessant typing grew so loud that it was almost unbearable. Chandler noticed the large woman put down the magazine and bite her lip. One of the stuck up women shuffled her feet against the ground as she struggled to juggle the contents of her pocketbook on her lap. 

All of the sudden, Chandler was struck with a thought. What were these five people doing in this waiting room? What were the waiting for? Were they here because they wanted to be? Had they been forced, like him? ad they been focrced, like he?JHad Were they waiting to be fixed? Did they think that this place could really fix them? Once the pieces of the heart are broken, they don't fit back together. You could use hammer and nails or even just a hot glue gun, but as soon as you stuck the pieces together, they would crumble in your hands like dirt clots. The breakable was broken, and no amount of waiting in waiting rooms was going to fix it. 

"Chandler Bing?" the receptionist called out to where the six of them were uncomfortably seated.

Chandler rose from his spot, slightly unsteady on his feet for a moment, before following the woman back toward the offices. She had curly, unnaturally red hair, and, in the split second that she turned around before she walked past him, Chandler noted the newly formed creases on her forehead and the sides of her cheeks. He nodded and smiled at her politely, but she just walked back to the front. He made a mental note of her behavior toward him. At that moment, it seemed like _she _deserved to be sitting in this office, more than he did.

After a minute, he took off his overcoat and placed it down on the chair behind him. Then, he loosened his tie, wishing that he hadn't decided to wear a tie to work. After all, it was casual Friday at his job. Well, it was actually Wednesday, but when you work at a company so large that your boss does not even know you work for him, people just don't place as much weight on the way you dress. 

He peaked out the door, where he caught a clear view of the waiting room. The wall-staring woman was gone. He turned back around and began to examine the room. The carpet was an unflattering shade of dark gray, but the white walls were filled with vibrant wall hangings. He noticed a picture of a sunset, the orange sun behind the mountains reminding Chandler of an egg yolk on a frying pain.  Next, he focused his attention on a painting of a small girl with dark hair and a white flowing dress, galloping among green hills. The sky was every shade of color, even black in some spots. It didn't look professional, but as if someone had spilled watercolors over the sky, completely ignoring the girl who had already been painted with perfect accuracy. 

Once he finished looking over the paintings, he began to walk around more. He frowned, noticing that there were quite a few clocks in the room. When he held his breath, he could hear them ticking – the minutes melting away slowly. He made a mental note: 'If I _ever _get old and decide to live in a room filled with clocks, rocking back and forth on my rocking chair, watching idly as the time ticks by, I hope my friends will have the common decency to put me in a home.' 

Speaking of clocks, did this guy even know what time it was?! He was getting sick and tired of all this waiting. What was taking him so long? Their appointment was supposed to have started seven minutes ago. Weren't psychiatrists supposed to always be on time?  Maybe that was the Dominos pizza deliveryman – Chandler always got professions mixed up. 

Suddenly, as if his thoughts had been spoken aloud, a person appeared in the doorway. Chandler looked up curiously, despite his desire to feign indifference toward the doctor's presence. However, when Chandler looked up, his heartbeat sped up and his palms became sweaty. _He was_ not a _he _at all! _He _was a _she_! Why didn't anyone tell him that it was going to be a woman?! Hell, he wasn't happy about the idea to begin with, but now that it was woman…he needed to get out…

However, before he could send the message to his legs, the woman closed the door and smiled at him. The only response to that on his part was a deep, shaky breath. She was fairly short, with dark hair pulled back in a loose bun and thick-rimmed glasses. She was dressed in a conservative gray suit, a few shades lighter than the ugly gray of the carpet. She was the paradigm of her profession.

She sat down on an identical chair, across from him. The chair was black, with a thin black cushion and metal armrests. She crossed her legs in a very lady-like manner, straightening her skirt out once she settled, and then placed a folder on her lap. Chandler studied the folder. That folder was going to be _his _folder. Every word he would ever utter in that room, every move he would ever make in that room would be recorded in that folder. That thought made Chandler feel like both vomiting, and burning the folder until it was nothing but black residue on his hands. He was feeling all of this, and she hadn't even written anything in it yet.

Finally, after another minute, she adjusted her glasses and looked up at Chandler. Then, she smiled again, but did not seem at all unfazed when he did not reciprocate. Instead, she folded her hands on top of the folder and cleared her throat.

"So, Mr. Bing – may I call you Chandler?"

"No," he answered quickly, not even hearing his words before he had said them.

She nodded, "All right Mr. Bing, I can deal with that. I'm Monica Geller. You can call me Monica if you'd like, but from that pissed off look on your face, I'm assuming you're going to want to stick with Dr. Geller." 

Chandler frowned. What was she doing making assumptions like that? Sure, he probably would have kept on calling her Dr. Geller if she had not made that comment, but still, it made him feel childish. Like she could predict every move he would make, before his brain even registered it. 

"I'm sorry I was late."

"Uh-huh," he mumbled.

"Does that make you upset?"

He looked up, challenging her with his eyes. It had been less than five minutes, and she was already being 'shrinky' with him.

"Maybe."

"Yes or no? Your life depends on the answer you choose." 

"Fine, yes."

"Now why's that?"

"Because I'm paying for this!"

Monica nodded, "Well, maybe _I _was late, but our session had already started."

"Sure it started…these clocks on the walls tick with my money."

"That's not what I meant. What I mean is that you don't need _me _to have a therapy session."

"Then why the hell am I paying you $75 an hour?!"

"Because a girl's gotta eat,"she paused, while she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, "I wanted to let you get acquainted with the room before I came into it. You should always get to _know _the room you're in. If I was in here, you would've been thinking about and looking at _me_, not becoming familiar with the room."

"What the hell?! Are you a hippy?" he blurted out. 

"Yes, actually. You'll have to forgive me, though. I forgot my bellbottoms and peace signs in my Volkswagen though."

"Whatever."

Monica removed her glasses and set them upon the desk behind her.  She put them right next to her pencil, which lay on a 45-degree angle from the wall. Her desk was so tidy it made him feel as if he was a messy child's playroom. "I'm not going to need those. I don't wear glasses."

Chandler stared at this woman with an incredulous look on his face.  It made him want to shake her. "But you were just wearing glasses!"

She laughed, a breathless laugh, as if she had been caught in the midst of an inexcusable action, "Yeah, appearances can really deceive, can't they?" 

He scowled. Was this woman trying to play with his mind? Lower his self esteem even more? Make him feel like a complete idiot? If that was the case, she was sure doing a superb job of it. He stared at her, noticing how the strands of black hair came loose from her bun and fell upon her pale cheeks. She was teasing him. 

"They can," he agreed, somewhat reluctantly.

"I'm glad you agree. That's why I'll need you to do me a favor."

"What's that?"

She uncrossed her legs and sat forward, elbows resting on her knees. "Stop sizing people up."

Chandler's heart sped up. He hated this woman so much. 

**_A/N: _**_Okay, if it's worth updating, I have written some chapters in advance (which I didn't for **Writings on the Wall**, which was probably my main mistake with that one. If you're reading that fic, don't worry. I will continue it, once the stress level dies down) so that'll mean I'll be able to update a few times, even if I'm bogged down by school work. I haven't had classes since Wed., since we're standardized testing, and I don't have any till this coming Wed., so I'm taking advantage of this [Physics]-free time. :P Anyway, I'm done rambling. Please review if you'd like me to continue! _


	2. Unanalyzed

**_Waiting_**_ – Chapter 2_

_Unanalyzed_

**_A/N: _**_So who saw Matthew Perry on Letterman the other night? *dies* "Lately Courteney's gotten really big. Yeah she gained like 350 lbs…some people say she's pregnant, but I don't buy it." (or something to that extent – I don't have it memorized…yet, heh) Oy, I love him so much. :p Weee, thanks for all the great feedback on my previous chapter – it made me very happy. Now do it again and get me through the tortuous hell of a research paper, Physics lab, and my mother's insane cleaning spree this weekend. Thanks! :) Oh and yes, Airy, you can picture Samantha Crumb, but since I've never seen the movie, I wouldn't know. Oh well *balances on window ledges* Whoo, at least that's the right movie this time! _

_Me: do u wanna say anything to my readers?_

_Yen: I suck my feet._

_^^Okay, I made that up. In my defense, she told me to make up something for her. *shrug*_

*

Chandler sat in a dark diner booth, with a cup of chicken soup sitting untouched in front of him. A baby began to sob, and the mother picked the screaming child up and walked around with him in her arms. The sounds of her low soothing words, against the child's cries, made Chandler feel hollow inside. He looked across at his own mother, who was blowing carefully on a spoonful of her soup. He never had what that child had – when he began to cry, his nanny would be the one in charge of silencing his cries. He would never have the chance to silence the cries of his own child, either. There never would be a baby in Chandler's life, his silent wish. He would always be missing what he needed to start a family – a wife.

His mother shifted and looked over at Chandler. He was still watching the mother with the baby, and she sighed.

"Still watching people, huh?"

He blushed, hating to be caught doing the crime. 

"Come on," she tried, "Eat your soup before it gets cold."

He nodded, and picked up the spoon. However, at the moment, he did not feel much like eating. He studied the woman across from him; she had not a wrinkle in sight. He wondered when it was that he began to look older than his own mother. 

She was starting to actually making a real effort to be there for him. At every opportunity she could get, she would come to New York and spend time with Chandler. He looked up at her as she brought the spoon to her mouth slowly, as if the contents were delicate to the touch. She might have been making an effort, but it didn't matter anymore. It was too little too late.

"So Chandler," she began tentatively,  "How was the appointment yesterday?"

"The woman's a bitch."

"Chandler," she admonished in the same tone she used when he acted stubborn as a child. 

He looked up, as if challenging her to say anything. He was mad that she had used that tone with him. It made him feel like a child, not unlike how he felt with Monica. 

"Eat your soup," she finished.

He picked the spoon up again, eating in silence. Things were always awkward between the two of them. Besides, Nora had to be sure to be careful of what she said to him; she was walking on eggshells. Everyone was, due to his suicide attempt. His friends knew, his co-workers knew, and worst of all, his entire apartment building knew. There was no escaping it. His deed became a ghost that followed him around everywhere he went. Even though he mostly did not speak of it, it never left his mind. 

"What would you like to do about it?" Nora continued, cutting into his thoughts, "Do you want a new doctor?"

"How about _no_doctor?"

"Sorry, Darling, that's not an option."

"Then no," he muttered. It probably would not get much better than Monica, anyhow.

"I hear she lets you call her Monica."

"Yeah."

"That's nice, isn't it?"

"I'd rather call her nothing."

"Oh Chandler!" she cried out, exasperated, "You've made your bed, it's time to sleep in it!"

He took a sharp look at his mother, who he could tell already regretted the words that had come out of her mouth. His jaw clenched, and she looked down with sorrowful eyes. It was so hard not to get frustrated with Chandler's attitude, though. In fact, it was hard to believe that he had once been a happy, light-hearted man, with a love for the people around him. Now, it was as if the light had gone out inside him. He was as dark as night.

"No, _you_ made my bed," he responded evenly, "Only now _I_ have to sleep in it."

With that, he stood up and calmly walked out the door of the diner. His pace sped up a bit when he felt the cool autumn air on his face, and he hailed a taxi. He got in, allowing himself to sink into the soft cushion, ignoring the smell of feet that permeated throughout the cab.  Now, with time to reflect upon what he said, he was starting to feel guilty. It was not fair of him to blame his mother for all of his problems. Maybe she was _part _of the problem, but she wasn't _the entire _problem. It just felt like the perfect thing to say. Insults rolled off his tongue in the way jokes used to. 

The taxi pulled up to his apartment building and Chandler paid the driver, before heading up the stairs. In his head, he rehearsed the apology phone call he would probably never make. Right now though, all he wanted to do was go to sleep. 

* 

"So Mr. Bing, how have you been?"

Chandler studied Monica's face. Such a simple, friendly question – there had to be more to it. She was trying to catch him in a trap; make him admit his most intimate thoughts. But Chandler wouldn't let her win.

"I've been fine, and you?" he responded with obvious forced friendliness. 

"Oh, it's been pretty good," she answered, nodding.

"That's good."

There was a pause, when Monica sighed deeply and opened up _his _folder. He eyed it with suspicion, dreaming of stealing the folder and shoving it through the big shredder they had at work.

"Let's cut to the chase here," Monica cleared her throat, "Why are ya here?"

"I _think _you know that."

"Maybe I don't."

"You do."

"Maybe. But for a moment, let's pretend I don't. What would you tell me?"

Chandler laughed, the bitter, sardonic type, and looked back at her. She was staring at him with sincerity written all over her face.  

"Are you sure you're…what are you?!"

Monica crossed her legs, in the same mannered fashion as she had at the beginning of their last session. "I'm a human being. What are you?"

Chandler shook his head, "You're insane, that's what you are."

"Could be. But you still didn't answer my question."

Chandler looked into her eyes. She looked back at him with calm, curious interest.

"I tried to kill myself," he said casually, as if it was an every day occurrence. Although in this building, it probably actually was an every day occurrence, he realized, especially if the person had Monica as their shrink. 

"Why?"

Why? Such a simple question; just like 'how have you been?' Then again, no one had ever asked him why before. He had just assumed that they didn't want to know, while they assumed that he didn't want to tell. No one knew, except him…and in a moment, Monica would, too. He wished he didn't have to tell her. 

"Because I hate my life."

She was unfazed by his response, as if she already knew he was going to say it, and was just waiting to hear it from his mouth, "Well, what is it about life that you hate?"

"I think a better question is 'what is it about life that you _don't_ hate?'"

"We can go with your question first, if you want."

"Sure. What is it about life that I don't hate, eh?"

"That's right."  

"Nothing." He crossed his arms, challenging her to challenge his answer.

"What about your friends?"

"Well, I liked them until they made me see you."

She laughed, "Well, I'm glad we got that out of the way. Now answer my question, what do you hate?"

"Everything! My job, my personality, my family…" he paused, realizing just how much he had let Monica know. His cheeks grew hot, as Monica studied him. 

"You know what I hate about my life?" she asked suddenly. 

"What's that?"

"Those very same things."

* 

Monica walked up the stairs to her apartment. She unlocked the door and groggily fumbled for the light switch. She was exhausted, although she wasn't sure why. All she ever did was sit around all day. Yet, somehow, listening to the world's problems had a way of exhausting her to her very core. 

She looked around her apartment, with its purple walls and many different wall hangings. Everything seemed to be in place, just as she had left it. She placed her purse on the counter, so that it fit perfectly in the center of the table, before sifting through the mail that sat on the kitchen table. After opening a few envelopes, Monica placed the mail on the counter next to her pocketbook, and collapsed on the couch.

She shut her eyes and immediately saw Chandler's face. He was going to be a tough case; she knew that from the start. He was very stubborn, but growing up in the Geller household, Monica had much dealing with stubbornness. Not only that, but she had a lot of dealing with suppressing her own flagrant stubbornness. She knew that there was more to him than the quick, sharp insults that he threw out. He was not a lost cause. Of course, she had learned in school that _no one _was a lost cause. Experience taught her otherwise. You could only help those who wanted help. No matter how bitter Chandler was on the outside, she could tell her truly wanted help. He was once a happy man, and he wanted to be happy once again. Something about him was calling her to his aid, deep within her, and not just because it was her job. No, there was something special about Chandler Bing.

Monica jumped when she heard a sound from the far bedroom. She settled when she saw it was just her roommate, Rachel. Rachel existed her bedroom and smiled at Monica.

"Hey! How was your day?"

"Tiring, like usual. Why are you home?"

"My day was all right, thanks," she joked, "I'm home because I'm sick."

"Well, you do sound sick," she observed sarcastically.

"I didn't feel like staying for inventory!" she whined, "It's so long and boring. I deserve a break."

Monica laughed and got up from the couch. She headed over to the kitchen, and took out a package of ground beef from the freezer. She threw it down on the counter, before getting out the rest of the ingredients for dinner. Rachel moved into the kitchen, looking over Monica's shoulder, but at the same time being careful not to disturb Monica. Rachel knew how touchy she could get while cooking.

"What are we having?"

"Spaghetti and meatballs, if that's okay. I'm too tired to cook anything more."

"No, that's great!" Rachel enthused, happy to not have to eat one of her fancy salmon dishes again. 

Monica began to cook with precise concentration. She loved to cook. It was her favorite hobby. She stuck the meat in the microwave to defrost it, and while it was heating, filled a pot with water and put it on the stove. As she was doing this, the phone rang, causing Monica to jump a bit. Rachel answered it, and, after a few moments, passed it to Monica. 

"Who is it?"

Rachel raised her eyebrows and winked. Monica shook her head disapprovingly and answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey Hon," a man's voice said on the other line, "How are you?"

"I'm okay, a little tired. You?"

"I'm great," he paused, "Does that mean I can't convince you to come over and visit me tonight?"

"Not tonight, sorry. I can barely keep my eyes opened."

"Who said you have to keep your eyes opened?"

"Richard," she half stated, half sighed.

"It's just, we haven't seen each other much lately."

"I know, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Take a rain check?"

"You got it."

"Bye babe," he said.

"Bye."

When she hung up the phone, Rachel looked at her accusingly.  She knew that Monica had been avoiding Richard for the past month, although she had no idea why.

"I'm gonna break up with him," Monica explained, as she shaped the meat into perfect spheres.

"Uh-huh," Rachel responded, unconvinced, "Just like you say every day." 

Monica didn't respond. Some things were better left unanalyzed. 

*

**_A/N: _**_Well, I hope ya'll aren't disappointed. If you are disappointed, then blame Physics class. I don't know why exactly, but I always blame it for everything that goes wrong in my life, so why shouldn't you? ;) Now I must go; I need to throw up a hairball. (You don't want to know, **believe me** :p) Please leave me a review – thanks! :) _


	3. How's it Hangin?

**_Waiting_**_ – Chapter 3_

_How's it Hangin'?_

****

**_A/N: _**_I tink Ib sick. I have a cold and I swear I sound like Monica! It's kinda scary…but more embarrassing than anything else. ;) Apparently, you can catch colds over the Internet b/c I received an angry e-mail from Yen blaming me for her catching a cold. ;) Sorry for the delay, things have been crazy. I wasn't lying when I said I didn't know if I'd be able to update again soon. School is crazy! I spent over 13 hours on homework between Tuesday and Thursday. When it's 10:00 and I've been working on homework since 4, it's hard to gather the energy to write fanfics, ya know? :/ But I will try to write on the weekends b/c I really wanna. Anyway, thanks for the reviews. Maybe do it again? Thanks. ;D_

Monica walked around her office, rearranging things that only she could tell were out of place. She lifted a picture of her and Richard that she had on her desk, and stared at it for a moment. Then, she opened one of the desk drawers, placed it carefully facedown, and shut the drawer again. She was not quite sure why, but she could not stand to look at the two of them together. When she saw the picture, she would think of him. When she thought of him, she would begin to feel weak. She did not want to feel weak. She was not weak.

She stared at one of her clocks - the golden rimmed one that sat on the wall across from the desk. Chandler was five minutes late. She tidied some more, straightening the paintings and chairs. Then, she sat down and examined her appearance in the mirror.  Her hair was in the same bun she wore to work everyday, but strands of hair always fell out. Her hair was not quite as long as she wanted it to be yet.

Just as she finished putting on a new coat of lipstick, Chandler strolled into the room. Monica looked up at a clock – 7 minutes late. She watched him as he sat down in the chair across from her, a nonchalant look on his face. She was about to speak, when he broke the silence first.

"Sorry I was late," he said in an innocent voice, "I was just giving you time to become acquainted with the room."

Monica sat in a stunned silence, completely thrown off-course by his comment. Suddenly, she smiled, a wide, genuine smile. "You know, if you weren't so bitter, you'd be a really funny guy."

"Right."

"So, how have you been?"

"Do you have to ask that question every time?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I want to know how you've been."

"Fine, well can you _at least _rephrase it?"

"I guess so. What do you want? How's it hangin'?"

"That works."

"Okay, then. How's it hangin'?"

He smiled, showing pearly white teeth, "Full and loose."

She stared at him for a moment, before wrinkling her face in disgust. "What are you, 13?!" 

He smiled, "You understood it right away."

"Yes, well I was in grade school, too, ya know?"

"Really? You mean you didn't just pop out of your mother's vagina looking like you do now?"

"You're a foul man."

He smiled smugly, "Thank you."

She laughed, "You should smile more."

"Why?"

"It makes you look younger."

He paused, "Are you implying that I'm old?"

It was her turn to wear a smug smile on her face, "Well, if the shoe fits…"

The smirk re-appeared on his face, "_Excuse_ me, but from the looks of these diplomas you've got on your wall, it doesn't seem like you're much younger."

She shook her head, "Okay, fine. We're both old - enough of this. Let's get down to business before I give you a wedgy." 

"All right."

"So, _how have you been_?"

"I thought we were asking 'how's it hanging' now?"

"You lost that privilege."

"Fine. Well, I've been great. Never better."

"Well, that's good."

"Yes it is."

"Now Chandler, I was thinking about what we discussed on Friday…"

"Uh-huh?"

"And I decided I'd like you tell me about your friends."

"Why?"

"Because I'm nosy."

He contemplated for a moment, "They're people."

"Well, that's a relief. Tell me about their personalities."

"Hmm, okay, Phoebe's odd – almost as odd as you."

Monica nodded, and stared straight into his blue eyes. After a moment, he broke her gaze and looked down at the folder on her lap, which remained closed. 

"Joey's kind of…dumb. But he's a great guy, so you have to forgive him for that."

"How'd you meet them?"

The question seemed harmless, but he watched her carefully as he answered, "Joey answered an ad to be my roommate and Phoebe…well, I'm not sure about Phoebe. She found us."

Monica laughed, "See? You _are _funny guy, when you're not bitter!"

He ignored her comment. 

"I'm not very happy with them for making me come here."

"I gathered," she took the plunge, "Still, don't you think you owe them?"

"Owe them?" he scrunched his forehead, "What are talking about?!" he stood up and pointed his finger at her, "I don't owe them anything!"

"Really?" she answered calmly, "So they weren't the ones who found you bleeding to death after you'd cut your wrists?"

Chandler blanched, and sat down on the seat below him. He was afraid that if he did not sit, he would faint. No one had ever been so frank about his suicide attempt before. He could not decide which he hated her for more – the comment, or the way her kind eyes made his insides melt.

*

Chandler held the door opened for Phoebe as she walked inside, carrying a load of groceries. He figured it was the least he could do, considering Phoebe wouldn't let him carry anything. When he offered, she had insisted that she was not a weak woman, and could carry the groceries herself. That was fine by him, but he could not help but laugh inwardly as she struggled to get up the stairs. 

When they entered his apartment, she almost dropped the groceries on the counter. She let out a huge sigh of relief and then began to unpack them. He just sat down at the counter and watched her.

"Aren't you going to help? This _is _your home, ya know?"

"Well, I tried to help before, but I got yelled at."

"Fine, be that way."

Chandler laughed, and reached into the bag, taking out some groceries. Phoebe always did their grocery shopping; she knew if she didn't, Chandler and Joey would live off of beer, Capn' Crunch, and take-out. She didn't mind; she liked to play mother hen in their little tight-knit group. 

"So, how's work?" Phoebe asked casually, as she put away a bag of apples in the refrigerator.

He ignored her question, "Ya know, Joey and I are _never _gonna eat those apples."

"Yeah, I guess not," She looked down at them, "Oh well, more for me."

They continued to put away the groceries in silence, until the last of the food was tucked away in its respectable place.  Chandler plopped down on one of the barcaloungers, put his feet up, and turned on the television. After a moment, Phoebe joined him on the adjacent chair, and turned to face him.

"So, you never answered my question. How's work going?"

He stifled a groan, "It's going. How's yours?"

"It's all right. The Robin Williams look alike is grossing me out so much, though. I'm tempted to bring a razor next time." 

Chandler laughed, "Well, if you want one, take Joey's."

"Thanks!"

He smiled, the amusement radiating from his face, "Anytime."

The two of them began to watch TV, but Phoebe continued to sneak glances at Chandler. He could see her in the corner of his, but remained silent. Finally, during the commercial, Phoebe turned to look at him. He watched as the light from the television bounced off her face.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"I think you just did…" Phoebe let out a frustrated sigh. "But yes, you can."

"How are the…umm, therapy sessions going?" 

He shrugged, "Fine."

"That's, umm, well, that's good."

"Yup."

Chandler saw the ghost of his past join them at that moment, looming in between their two chairs, leaving an awkward air about the room.

*

Monica sat uncomfortably in a restaurant, as she and Richard waited for the check.  He had finished talking about his day twenty-five minutes ago. Aside from his day, they never had anything to talk about anymore. Monica refused to divulge information about her patients, bar their names if need be, and they had no hobbies or interests in common. 

She was about to get up to go to the restroom for the forth time that night, when the check came. 'Finally,' she thought as Richard gave in his credit card. She tried to reflect back upon the previous year, when they had first started dating, how they never had this awkward silence. Back then, they could talk about the past, remembering those who had lived in their neighborhood, laughing at the different perceptions their ages gave them. Now, there was nothing amusing about their differences. 

Finally, the receipt came and Richard stood up, holding her coat out as she placed her arms inside of the sleeves. 'This is going to be the night,' she told herself, 'This will be the night that you break up with him.' She could smell the scent of his cologne mixed with the potent cigar smoke.  She held her breath. 

Richard grasped her elbow as the two of them walked outside into the brisk night air. Richard took a deep breath and then let it out.

"Such a beautiful night, isn't it? What do you say we walk back?"

"Okay," Monica agreed easily. 

It really was a beautiful night, Monica noted, as she passed the different shops that were beginning to close up for the night. She loved the way the cool air felt as it blew through her hair, sending pieces flying against her face. Fall was her favorite season. It was the time of the harvest, the end of a cycle. She had decided long ago that when she died, she wanted to die during the fall, as the falling leaves gathered on her casket before the dirt covered it forever. 

To anyone but Monica, that would have been a morbid thought. But death was something she dreamed about; a long-off goal that she was waiting patiently to reach. She was determined that she would die peacefully, and no one would have to watch her suffer as she had watched her father so many years before. She shuddered at the memory, and Richard, mistaking her shivering for temperature discomfort, wrapped his arms around her.

When they got to her apartment, Richard came inside, out of habit. She got him a cup of coffee, and together they sat on the couch in silence yet again, sipping their coffees. Monica knew she had to get it over with; tell him good-bye for good. She took a deep breath.

"Rich –"

The door opened and Monica jumped, spilling coffee all over herself. 

"Shit!" she yelled.

"Let me get you a towel, Hon," Richard said quickly, knowing how upset the stain was going to make her.

She cleaned off her skirt and sighed in relief when she realized there was no stain on the white couch. "Thanks," she responded sheepishly.

Monica turned around and noticed Ross still standing at the door. "Sorry for scaring you."

"It's okay," she responded, "What's up?"

"Well, I was here to see if Rachel was around, but I'm guessing she's not."

"No, sorry. She's working late."

"Oh…right."

"Want me to tell her you're looking for her?"

"No, that's all right. I'll talk to her tomorrow," he turned to Richard, "Sorry for interrupting you guys."

"Don't worry about it," he answered lightly.

Once Ross departed, Monica began to muster up the courage again to talk to Richard. The coffee spillage had thrown her all of course. However, before she could begin, Richard stood up and stretched.

"Look, babe, I'm gonna take off…unless…" he paused, hoping she would invite him to stay the night. When she didn't, he muttered, "Never mind," and placed his coffee mug on the counter next to the sink.

She walked him to the door, intent on telling him what she had to say, when he kissed her passionately on the lips. It had been a few months since they had contact in that fashion, and it made Monica feel uneasy. When they broke apart, he pulled her into a tight embrace. Suddenly, her senses were overwhelmed by the familiar scent of his cologne and cigars. She closed her eyes and she was ten again, being held in the strong, protective arms of her father.  But then, he pulled away; she found that she was staring into the eyes of not her father, but of a man whom she had lost all attraction to months ago – it was a completely different situation.

"I'll call you tomorrow," he whispered, before opening the door and walking down the hall. 

Monica stood rooted to her place in front of the door. She could not break up with Richard. She did not want to lose the last remnants of her father.

**_A/N: _**_I know **some **of you want to say, "EWWW! She's in love with her father!" but I would like to explain that's not what I mean. I'm trying to show that Richard comforts her in a way that reminds her of her father, **bar the sexual aspects**. That's why, when he kissed her, she felt nothing…it was when she was hugged that she felt comforted. Understand? No? Think I'm a pervert? Yes?  Oh well. :-x If you're going to say I'm disgusting then don't review, b/c I've explained myself. If that isn't enough for you, then I'm sorry, but this is part of my plot and I'm not changing it just b/c everyone thinks everything has to be sexual nowadays (I wasn't only saying to you Yen :p). Wow, I sound old. :p Otherwise, please leave me a review…maybe I'll update faster next time. ;) (or at least I won't end up forgetting that I had a fic to work on, hehe, oops. I've been so stressed lately that I'd forget my head if it weren't screwed on though, believe me. It's nothing personal.)_


	4. Ocean Eyes

**_Waiting_** _– Chapter 4_

_Ocean Eyes_

**_A/N: _**_Bonjour! I'm baaaack, heh. I don't really have much to say. Since it was brought up, I'd like to address one review in particular of the last chapter. _**_Mncali:_**_ I'm truly glad that this fic seems "real" to you; this story, in particular, comes straight from my heart. Unfortunately, I am all too aware of the helplessness that one feels when someone they love [for me, a family member] goes through this. My advice to you [whether or not you wish to take it] is to try and stick with your friends because I'm sure they could use a great friend like you. However, don't give your life away to them. You're only one person – you can only help them if they want help. *hugs* I hope everything works out for you. If you'd ever like to talk, I'm here for you  - my e-mail's in my profile. Anyway, I'm very grateful for all the wonderful reviews of the last chapter. I cannot tell you how glad I am that everyone understood the point I was trying to get across about Monica and Richard's relationship. I'm also glad I explained it though – people can be dense, even though you lot obviously are not. (hey, that rhymed!) :p I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)_

"You know, I don't like this office," Chandler admitted suddenly, during their fifth appointment. 

Monica had been writing in his folder, and, raising her eyebrows, looked up curiously. "What don't you like about it?"

"For one thing, I hate all your goddamn clocks. I swear they're driving me mad."

"I'm sorry about that."

"Why do you have so many clocks anyway?"

"I don't know; I like to keep track of the time. Besides, I think they're nice."

"There's no need for more than one clock. I mean once you've seen one clock, you've kinda seem 'em all."

"Yeah? What if one of the clocks stops?"

"Well, then fine, get two. But why do you need eight?"

"I have eight?" she began to count, "Huh, so I do."

Chandler shook his head, frustrated to his very core with the nonchalant manner in which she handled his criticisms. If a man had told him that his office was ugly, he would have probably tried to beat him up. 'Tried being the keyword,' Chandler thought bitterly.

"What are you thinking about?" Monica wondered, breaking him free of his train of thought.

"That I don't want to be here."

"That's a shame. Well, I want to be here, and that's all that really matters." 

Chandler eyed her angrily, undecided between wanting to push her against a wall or wanting to storm out of her office in an angry huff. "God damnit, you treat me like a child!" 

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, that's right! You're all like…casual about everything I say. Didn't it bother you that I said those things about your office?! Why don't you ever get upset?"

"Well, you're entitled to your own opinion," she began, "As am I. I like the office and I especially like all my clocks. If you don't like it, tough; I'm not going to get upset just because our opinions are different."

"You're not human."

She laughed, "If only that were true."

Chandler was struck with a curious thought. "What would you do if you weren't human?"

She pondered his question for a moment, aware but uncaring that it was getting completely off the topic of Chandler. "I would use my magical powers to convince you that people care about you. I would show you that it's okay to have flaws. I would let you see that rejection is only a part of life, and failure is only a stepping stone to success."

Despite his harsh feelings toward her, he was touched, for a few moments, by her words. Then he remembered how many other patients she was saying that exact same thing to, and the sentiment left him as quickly as it had arrived. 

"Such a shame that you're human then, isn't it?" he asked sarcastically, a touch of disbelief in his voice.

"Well, I answered, so now it's your turn. What would you do if you weren't human?"

"Hmm, I'd probably rob a bank. Then, when I was filthy rich, I would buy a city and name it after myself."

"Bingsville?" Monica giggled.

"I was thinking more like Chandler. Chandler, Texas."

"That actually exists, ya know?"

"Really? Well then, my work's already done."

"Sounds like a fun place to live."

"Yeah, but we'd have a rule that no shrinks would be allowed."

"Poor shrinks. I'll let them know that if they try to live in your city."

Chandler shook his head incredulously, a response that he had gotten quite used to giving her. "You are one strange woman." 

"Right back'atcha," she joked. She watched when, for a split second, the slightest of smiles touched Chandler's lips. She was right; he was not a lost cause. 

*

Chandler sat on a stoop a few blocks away from his apartment building. Before his suicide attempt, he would actually sit on the steps of his own apartment building. However, once the ambulance came that night and the rumors spread like a plague, he no longer felt comfortable anywhere, bar locked up safe in his own apartment. The looks that people gave – sympathy, pity, amusement – made him feel utterly ridiculous. Obviously, the burden of the 'suicide ghost' as he was beginning to call it, was not enough for him to deal with. 

He felt most at peace as he watched people walk briskly past him, becoming just streaks of color in the wind. That was why he sat on a stoop and not in Central Park, where most other "people watchers" thrived – he liked to watch others during their daily routine. He wanted to see them rush from one place to another, doing nothing but being the typical New Yorkers that they were. How many of these people had he seen before? How many of them would he ever see again? 

Chandler began to think of Monica, as he watched the people pass before him. She had captured his thoughts a lot lately. For one thing, she always gave him things about life to ponder. Although he would never let her know it, he really did ponder those things she brought up in the sessions. 

Right now, he was thinking about what he would do if his friends had one day disappeared from his life. That had been her big question of the last session. He had refused to answer her, saying that a psychiatrist should not bring up appalling ideas like that. However, in the confinement of the busy Manhattan street, he could not help but let the daydreams seep into his mind. 

What would he do if he had to come home every evening to an empty apartment? Life without Joey's smiling face and juvenile carelessness was like life without oxygen – inexistent. As for Phoebe - how could he cope without her outlandish stories? Even though she made little sense most of the time, her enthusiasm for her own words made even the most conservative of people smile. Besides, how could he ever survive the dreaded holidays without eating licorice out of her fake human skull?

It was then that he realized Monica had succeeded in giving him some perspective on his life. If he could not imagine his friends leaving _him_, then how must they have felt when they realized he did not even care to think about leaving _them_? He had merely slit his wrists; the repercussions of his actions far from his mind, not even considering for a moment the heart-breaking pain it would bring upon his friends. 

They truly did care about him. The problem, however, was that it was becoming increasingly hard to accept that was possible.

*

"If I promised not to attempt suicide again, could we stop therapy?" Chandler tried at the next session.  
  


"No, probably not. You're stuck with me."

"I think I should have a say in this, ya know. After all, it is my life."

"You do have a say in it. I gave you the choice of meeting during your lunch break or after work, and you chose your lunch break."

"Great," he mumbled.

"Are you hungry?"

"No," he lied.

"All right," she replied, taking out his folder. She noticed the discomfort that the folder brought to him; he tensed and straightened his back. Monica looked down at it for a moment, before placing it back into her desk drawer. She could fill it out later. "What do you like to do for pleasure?"

"Umm, watch TV."

"Anything else?"

"And movies."

"I see," she cleared her throat and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, "What if you didn't have television or movies? What would you like to do then?"

"Dunno, it's never happened." She gave him a look that showed she was not in the mood for his games. "Fine, well, I, uh, I like to sit outside."

"Yeah? What type of whether do you like?"

"Everything. But mostly the whether we're having right now. Most of the time it's not too hot, but not too cold."

Monica smiled, "Fall's my favorite season, too. See? We have a lot more in common than you make it seem."

"Right," he mocked.

"So you're sitting outside. What do you do?"

"Sit…"

"No, I know that. I mean do you just stare at the ground?"

He shrugged.

"Are you a people watcher?"

"I dunno," he responded, but he knew that she had already figured it out.

"There's nothing wrong with being a people watcher," Monica informed him kindly, "As long as you're not a stalker."

"I'm not a stalker!"

Monica patted his arm, causing him to pull back sharply,  "I didn't say you were. You have to learn to be less defensive."

"Oh and you're never defensive?" Chandler challenged.

"I never said that," she paused and then added, "And there you are being defensive again."

Chandler threw his arms up in the air, "You are the most frustrating woman in the world! You're worse than my ex!"

Monica knew she had hit a sore spot. She did not speak, merely looked into his deep blue eyes and allowed him time to calm down. Neither spoke for a few minutes, as Chandler let out shaky breaths. 

"We don't have to talk about her," Monica said softly.  
  


"Good."

"We can if you want to."

"No, that's – that's all right."

"Okay. If you ever want to –"

"I know where to go," he responded dryly.

Monica pulled her chair closer to him and grasped his hand in hers. This time, he did not recoil. Instead, for the first time, she felt herself losing control of a situation involving her job. Slowly, she caressed his hand, watching him in the same curious way that he watched her. For a moment, she saw the contempt he held toward her fade, and all that was present in his face was the softness of his heart. 

"Has anyone ever told you how beautiful your eyes are?" she whispered.

"No," he answered simply.

"Well, they are," Monica responded, "They're like an ocean." Suddenly, she let go of his hand and pushed her chair back against the wall. She straightened in her seat, and rested her hands upon her lap. "Now where were we?" she began breathlessly, "Oh yes, defensiveness…"

*

Once Chandler's session was over, Monica quickly ran to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face.  What had happened back in there?! She had completely lost her head! She never did that…well, not in her professional life, anyway. She had always been confident, radiant. She knew exactly what to say at the exact, precise time. However, when she had taken Chandler's hand, she had completely lost control over her words as they rolled off her tongue in a brainless effort. 

It was as if her personal life had seeped into her professional one.

The fear, the lack of confidence, the utter disdain for herself – they all tore down the walls of her personal life like a rampant tornado.  However, when she was Dr. Geller, the walls went back up, sturdy and demanding, and she could be as secure and positive as she wanted. 

She had watched in horror as, unbeknownst to Chandler, the last of her walls came tumbling to the ground. The walls, the enforcements of her life, had gone back up after that moment, and she could again pretend to be strong and sturdy in all of her words and actions. However, the walls were not as sturdy as before. She feared for her life that she would lose the last of her strength to Chandler and his ocean-blue eyes.

"Don't mess this up," she whispered at her reflection in the mirror, before pushing open the door and facing the world once again.

*

Chandler tossed and turned in his bed. He could still feel the light touch of her warm hand against his. The words, "They're like an ocean," echoed through the silent night air, making him break into a cold sweat. In the dark, he could see her eyes, glowing bright and blue, watching him in a way that showed she knew every thought in his head – comforting him.

Finally, between the hours of one and three, Chandler drifted off into an uneasy sleep. He dreamt that he was on a cliff, staring into the ocean. As he looked down, he saw a pair of eyes staring back at him. For a moment, he thought they were his own, and panic pulsated through his body, as he thought his eyeballs had fallen from their sockets. Slowly, he began to realize they were not his eyes at the bottom of the clear sea. They were Monica's.

He leaned over the cliff; his body curled over in a diving position and he let his toes slowly leave the ground. He plummeted head first into the ocean, feeling the cold water wash over him. He looked everywhere for Monica, but all he could see was the sun glistening off the surface of the sea. 

"Monica?" he called, "Monica?"

Suddenly, darkness overtook the ocean. Waves began to crash over Chandler's body, causing him to sink deep down to the ocean's sandy floor. His feet touched the floor and he tried to push up from it, but the blanket of water was too strong. He began to struggle for breath, gasping and panting like a fish on land. As the last of the air left his lungs, he felt his body fall limp and float up to the surface. Suddenly, it was light and he could breath again.  He opened his eyes and saw Monica's eyes for a split second, before everything went completely dark.  He moaned, feeling cold hands against his forehead. There was some mumbled chattering around him, but he couldn't make any of it out as he squirmed in his soaking wet t-shirt.

"Dler," he heard, and then, "Chandler," was audible, but it sounded distant. "Chandler," a familiar voice said sharply, and a moment later he felt frantic hands feeling around his head. With much effort, he slowly opened his eyes, feeling blinded by the light around him.

"Chandler!" Phoebe shouted, upon noticing his eyes were opened, "Joey! Joey, his eyes are opened! He's awake!"

Joey ran back inside of the bedroom, his ear pressed against a black cordless telephone.  Joey covered the mouthpiece and patted Chandler on the shoulder.

"Don't scare us like that again," he joked heavily.

"Wha – what happened?"

"You have a fever – it's at around 103, " Joey informed him.

Phoebe stuck a thermometer in his mouth, "Nope, make that 102.5!" 

Joey let a sigh of relief, as Phoebe dabbled Chandler's forehead with a cold, wet washcloth.

"We should still get you to the hospital though," she began, "Do you think you can walk?"

Chandler stood up and almost fell backward. Immediately, Joey placed his hand under Chandler's elbow and steadied him as they stumbled carefully down the stairs.

"Why am I all wet?" he asked, still frazzled from the fever. 

"Some of it's your sweat, some of it's from when we poured cold water on you to try to get your fever down."

Chandler shuddered, wishing he could be dry. He hated water with such a strong passion. Suddenly, he remembered his dream, swimming in the water in search of Monica's eyes. However, he was too tired to think about it anymore. Instead, he allowed himself to be led into the taxi by his worried friends.

**_A/N: _**_Well, that was fun. ;) Anyway, I've got to go study for a major Physics test on Monday. Yes, my Saturday nights consist of updating fanfics and studying Physics at 11 PM – what a life I lead. Hey Yen! (I don't know what else to say :p) Please leave me a review, thanks! :) _


	5. The Invisible Noose

**_Waiting_**_ – Chapter 5_

_The Invisible Noose_

**_A/N: _**_My advice to all of you is: always wear sunscreen. Yesterday, I was outside all day at an amusement park and now my face looks like a tomato. :'( It was really fun, though, so I guess it was worth it. ;p Oh and in case you all are wondering about my Physics test, I got a B! That's…a huge thing. Actually, I got an A on the test before, but that was only b/c I spent every waking moment with my teacher, getting extra help (and, I can only assume, driving her nuts, in the process). Anyway, I really appreciate all the wonderful reviews! They really help to inspire me. So thank you all. :D_

**_Dedication: _**_This chapter is dedicated to my bestest friend, Yen, whose birthday is…tomorrow! So happy birthday my darlin'. Wow, I just looked up to see what fic I was writing during your last birthday and it's on the 3rd to last chapter of **Between Us**. This is what it said, to be exact: "__This chapter is dedicated to my very dear and weird sexy monkey buddy Yen (JenniGellerBing) in honor of her *coughs* teenth birthday which is today!! Yay!! I've been looking forward to this day all week! *gives Yen blank-teen birthday punches* that was fun! I think I'll do that more often. *kisses Yen* happy birthday babes! Thanks for being an awesome friend. I love u more than a monkey eating banana birthday cake! :-)"__Man, the only thing I'd change in that for this year's dedication is to take out the monkeys. ;) Hey, I guess this means my birthday's coming up soon, doesn't it? ;P ___

Chandler sat up groggily in the hospital bed, engaged in a game of blackjack with Joey and Phoebe. The two of them were behaving in their usual aggressive card playing manner, including Phoebe yelling, "hit me!" so loud that a nurse ran into the room, thinking someone was being attacked. When they were on their twelfth hand, the doctor entered, and the three of them reluctantly tore their attention from the vigorous game they had been playing. 

The doctor cleared his throat before he spoke. The man was tall and lanky, most likely about Chandler's age, he observed. His face was stubbly, the beginnings of a beard present on his dark face. He smiled and picked up Chandler's chart.

"You're going to be fine," he started off in a friendly tone, "No worries."

"Well, that's good," Chandler responded, "But what happened?"

"Well, from the looks of things, it was a reaction from the medication you're on."

That statement caused Chandler trouble swallowing. At first, he had been reluctant to agree to take medicine, but Monica had convinced him that it was not such a terrible thing. "Lots of people are anti-depressants and live completely normal lives," she had told him, "There's nothing to be ashamed of – it doesn't make you any different than anyone else." He had given her one of his incredulous looks that he reserved only for her, so she continued, "Look, the only people who are gonna know are me, you, and your pharmacist." But she was wrong. Now this doctor knew, as did the lab technician who tested his blood.  The secret was unraveling. 

The doctor looked down at Chandler's chart as he spoke, "The side effects usually only effect less than 1% of those taking the medicine," He looked up and smiled, "Guess you lucked out, eh?"

"Oh boy did I," Chandler muttered. 

"We're going to keep you here until the medicine is completely out of your system – you'll probably be out by tonight."

Chandler did not respond. He had reverted into one of his angry moods. Out of all those people taking the same medicine as him, _he _was the one to get sick from it. Figures.

"Thank you very much, Doctor…" Phoebe trailed off, realizing she didn't know his name.

"Thompson," he filled in, "Allen Thompson."

"Well, thank you very much, Doctor Thompson," Phoebe responded, a flirtatious smile present on her lips.

Joey watched the scene and also smiled, but in an immature fashion. "She's gonna get some action," Joey whispered, nudging Chandler in the ribs. Chandler couldn't help but smile back. 

Phoebe watched him as he left, before turning back to the two remaining men. Her smile faltered and she slapped Joey on the arm, "I heard what you said!" 

"Ow!" Joey complained, before taking her hand of blackjack that she had left on the bed and throwing it on the ground.

"Hey! I was winning!"

The two of them bickered back and forth, as Chandler watched from his spot on the bed, grinning. For a few minutes, lost among the fighting and laughter of his friends, he could forget about his sicknesses – both physical and emotional.

*

As the day wore on, Phoebe left so that she could fit in two massage clients, while Joey halfheartedly headed off to an audition for a commercial, although Joey could not remember what the product actually was. Chandler stretched and turned on the small television that sat high on the shelf, looking down upon him. He flipped through an infomercial for farming equipment, _The Jerry Springer Show_, and settled on a Spanish soap opera. However, after a few minutes, following the foreign language only succeeded in making his head ache. He switched off the television and took the cards that Phoebe had left behind. 

Once he was on his fifth hand of solitaire (after losing the first four), there was a soft knock on his door. He called for the knocker to come in, and was shocked to see Monica standing in front of him. She offered him a smile, but it seemed forced. She walked over and stood beside his bed, her hands grazing the metal railing for a few moments, as she attempted to collect her thoughts.

"How are you feeling?"

"What? No 'How've you been'?" he mocked.

She gave him a half smile, "I think it's pretty obvious how you've been."

"Yeah…"

Silence overtook the room. Chandler stared at the trash on the lunch tray in front of him, as Monica continued to stroke the railing absently. The cold steel reminded her that she was visiting Chandler for a reason.  He looked at her expectantly, but she did not look back – the words were caught in her throat. 

She was fighting against herself – she wanted to crumble and cry right there in front of Chandler. She couldn't though, that was obvious. She just had to wait until the feeling passed. Looking at Chandler lying in the hospital bed made her feel incredibly guilty, even if he was not in any danger anymore. It was she who had prescribed the medication to him. Even though there was no way she could have foreseen that it would have made him sick, she could not fight away the blame.

"Did you come here just to stand around?" Chandler asked in an emotionless tone, startling her.

"N – no, I didn't. I came here to talk to you."

"Oh," he paused, "Well, go ahead."

She forced a grateful smile on her face, and could see a glimmer of pride in his face as she struggled.

"I'm really sorry that you're sick."

"Uh, thanks, I guess."

"I had no idea," she continued, "I didn't know it would hurt you."

"You couldn't have," he conceded. 

"Well, I guess I just wanted to say I'm sorry. If I could go back in time and un- prescribe the medicine, I would."

Chandler propped himself up on his elbow, studying Monica as she shuffled in her spot beside him. She was dressed in jeans and a red blouse; wearing more colors with her current outfit than she had every other time Chandler had seen her combined. He could not help but admire the way her jeans hugged her curves. The thing that shocked him the most though was the way her hair was down – there were no stray pieces flying into her eyes. It was odd. 

"It's okay," he responded, "I'm going to survive."

She gave him a half smile, before looking down at her shoes.

Chandler noticed that she was different at that moment. It was not just her physical appearance - her eyes were softer and her face less focused. But there was something else that he saw in her at that moment, as she stared down shamefully, that made him feel like they were connected. It was then that he realized she had been right; they were not all that different. She was a person - a person with feelings - just like him.

"I'm gonna go," she whispered, "I'll see you next appointment – whenever you're feeling – better, right?"

Monica turned to face the door, but stopped moving once he began to speak, "Yeah," he answered in a soft tone that he had never thought he would use with her, "I'll see you soon…Monica."

For a moment, she was frozen in her place. She looked back at him, thinking maybe she'd misheard him. But there he was, smiling genuinely, before turning his attention toward the television. Progress.

*

Monica watched Chandler warily as he shifted awkwardly in his seat during their next session, a week later. Things were not that different since the hospital visit. However, Monica could tell _something _had changed in Chandler. Something about his behavior toward her was different. It was as if, sometimes, he would forget that he was supposed to hate her. For a little, he would speak in a tone that she could tell was the true Chandler. He even smiled sometimes – short, faltering, but a smile nonetheless.  She lived for those moments when she could see him smile; it would cause a fluttering in her stomach that she refused to identify as anything but joy in his improvement. 

"Chandler," she began, before taping her finger on the desk beside her, "You've talked about your relationship with your friends…but I never got to ask you about your family." He stared at her blankly, so she continued, "Is there anyone in your family you're particularly close with?" 

"Well, my friends are like family…"

"I meant blood-related."

"Oh," he paused, "Then no one."

"You've never had a good relationship with anyone in your family?"

He shrugged, "Well, there was my grandfather…"

"You two are close?"

"Yeah, we were pretty close."

"Were?"

"He died when I was nine…around the same time my parents got divorced." 

Monica's jaw tightened. She didn't know that Chandler's parents had divorced. In fact, she really did not know much about his life at all. But, at the moment, he seemed willing to open up to her, as long as she did not pry too deeply. She was going to have to take advantage of his comfort with her as much as she possibly could. The last thing she wanted was to see him close up again.

"He and I used to go finishing. I didn't really like fishing, but I never told him," Chandler recalled, "I didn't want to ruin things between us. It was hard when he died. I felt really alone in a way that none of my friends could understand."

"Did your parents know how you felt?"

Chandler shrugged, "They probably did, but thought that if they didn't confront it, it wouldn't become real, ya know?" 

"Yeah definitely. How about now? Do you keep in touch with them?"

"My mom, a little. Ever since I tried to kill myself, she's been around more. She travels, a lot, so I don't see her all that often. When I do see either of my parents, it's awkward, though," he explained, careful to avoid telling Monica about the outburst that occurred the last time his mother came for a visit.

"Awkward?"

"Yeah, we don't know what to say to each other, so we pretty much just sit there in silence – them regretting how much they neglected me as a child, and me resenting them for not trying to fix our relationship when they had a chance."

 "So, if they would make a real, honest effort to reconcile, would you forgive them?"

Chandler thought about it for a moment, "No…no, I don't think I would."

Monica nodded.

He looked down at his hands, "That makes me a horrible person, doesn't it?" 

"No, of course it doesn't – not that I would tell you that you're a horrible person, even if you were…which you're not," she added quickly, "It's normal to feel spiteful toward people who've hurt you in the past – namely, family. I know I had problems with my mother for the longest time."

"But you fixed them?"

"Yeah," she lied. There was no use in making him feel like it couldn't be done, just because she had not yet fixed her problems with her mother, "We talked and fixed them."

"What were your problems?"

"She was very critical of me. She bowed down to my brother, but she always criticized me. I think she saw herself in me – she wanted to live vicariously, and therefore was too strict with me."

"You know when the first time I realized I hated my father was?" Chandler asked, but did not wait for an answer, "I was four and I'd found a kitten in our backyard. I showed my nanny and she told me, 'I don't think your father will approve,' but I insisted that he would let me keep the cat. I named him Chopsticks and carried him inside, chatting happily about how much I loved Chinese food and how much I would love Chopsticks."

"Then my father came home. I ran down the stairs, with Chopsticks in my arms, and I showed the tiny white kitten to him. He started to get angry, demanding to know why my nanny had let me take in a cat. He hated cats. I think he hated children, too, though – hated anything needier than him," Chandler paused, staring at Monica's desk, "Needless to say, he made me get rid of Chopsticks. The funny thing is, I couldn't eat Chinese food again until I moved out of the house for college. It always reminded me of my cat. I had just wanted a friend."

Monica sat across from him and despite her position as the professional in the office; tears prickled the corners of her eyes. It was _he _who made her personal self join with the professional. She cared too much about him. Realizing she had to focus on her patient and not herself, she forced her attention upon Chandler again, all the while holding back her tears. 

"Are we done yet?" he asked impatiently, his frustration with her apparent once again. 

"Yeah," Monica answered distractedly, "We're done."

It all made sense now; his stubborn childish behavior, his defensiveness…as a child, he had never been allowed to _be _a child. Now, as this man approached the thirty-year mark, he still possessed aspects of his childhood. He was so used to be alone that he could not accept that anyone would want to step into his world. Monica had an overwhelming desire to walk over to him and brush his cheek, whispering that it would all be okay. But she couldn't touch him and she certainly couldn't tell him it would all be okay. After all, she was the same as him.  They were both being strangled by the arms of their pasts – the invisible noose. 

**_A/N: _**_All righty, I know there wasn't much Mondlerness in this chapter (at least not in the way you're all waiting for!) but I **promise **the good stuff's on its way. I've already started to write it. Of course, I'm 3 chapters ahead of what I'm posting, but still…patience is virtue. :D Argh, SATs again tomorrow. I need to break my goal or I'll have to study/have my tutor over the summer. :'( Oy, I'm nervous. :-x Please leave me a review, thanks! :) _


	6. A Reason to be Happy

**_Waiting_**_ – Chapter 6_

_A Reason to be Happy_

**_A/N: _**_Whoooooooooooo! I don't know why I just said that. Hmm. Anyway, I'm so stupid. I fell asleep at 5, planning on just taking a nap after school, but I slept straight till 11. So, now it's 12:30 and I'm not really tired. Go figure. :p Stupid staying up till 2 AM watching Leno/being hyper cuz of the end of Friends, bah! But everyone was talking about it, and I made sure **not **to b/c none of my friends know about the obsession (as it should be, since they wouldn't understand) but at lunch, my friend asked me if I'd watched the finale like "the rest of the world did" and I said, "Yes, of course!" and asked if she had and she laughed at me! She never even watched the show, but she's convinced it's horrible She just can't like anything that's popular. Oh well, now Yen and I are talking about it, so it's all good. -grins- Thanks for all the great reviews for the last chapter! You guys rock. Do it again or I'll ramble even more in my next chapters' A/N's, mwahaha! :p_

The large copying machine made noises as the light shone through the top, just barely hitting Chandler's stomach, before dying away as it spit out the warm copied papers. Chandler opened the lid, took out the original document, and arranged ten pages together. Then, he reached over to the desk beside him, groping for the stapler without much concentration. He felt the cool steel against his fingers, but before he could bring the stapler closer, it was snatched from his hands. He looked up in anger, unfazed by the mocking face before him. 

"You let go of things too easily, Chandler," the man said in a snooty tone. 

"Shut up," Chandler muttered.

"Whoa, whoa! What's with the bad language?"

Chandler ignored him, walking swiftly to his office. He had to get away from the blond haired embodiment of the devil. He wanted to fight, but from past experiences, he had learned that was not a good idea. He was mature; he could take the high road. 

"Where you going so quickly, Chandler? Got a knife in your office?"

Chandler arrived at his office door and, as the rest of the people on the floor watched the scene with mild interest. 'You'd think they'd be sick of this by now,' he thought angrily. Chandler refused to answer. Instead, he walked inside his office, slammed the door, with the word 'chicken' echoing in his head. 

He walked over to the window and opened the blinds. The sun poured into his plain white office, warming his trembling body with soft rays. He looked out at the bustling city below him, and tried his hardest to think of anything but what that man had done to him – not just that day, but in the past as well. 

Monica sat quietly as she took the bulk of Chandler's anger with silent defiance. He was angry about something, but in his state there was absolutely no way Monica would be able to get it out of him. Instead, she spoke in the gentle, soothing voice, and waited with patience for the wave of rage to pass. 

"I swear to God," he grumbled, "I want to rip these clocks off your walls. They drive me nuts!"

"We've been through this."

"I know, but you haven't listened to me, have you?!"

"I listened. I just chose to ignore you."

"That's the attitude I'm getting from you? Aren't shrinks supposed to be better than that?"

"Well then send the police after me," she challenged nonchalantly. 

Chandler shook his head, realizing that being angry with her was just going to make him angrier in the long run. She always knew exactly what to say to push his buttons.

"I know you're upset about something, Chandler –"

He snorted.

"We don't have to talk about whatever's bothering you. I just want to talk about _something_."

"Something?"

"Anything."

"Anything?"

She furrowed her brow, "Yes, anything. Just not this bantering back and forth – it's giving me a head ache."

"Let's talk about you."

Monica's swallowed hard, "This isn't about me."

"Well then, we can just sit here in silence."

"All right, ask away," she muttered through gritted teeth, before folding her arms across her chest and glaring at him. 

"How was your childhood?"

"It was all right. Not great, but all right."

"Well, what was it that made it only 'all right'?"

Monica laughed, "Maybe you should take my job instead."

"Maybe you should answer the question."

"Well impatience isn't going to get you anywhere," she replied stiffly, "But um, like I told you last time, my mother and I didn't get along well. Plus, my father passed away when I was little."

"Wow," Chandler remarked, slightly shocked by what she told him, "I'm sorry."

The corners of her mouth rose slightly into a small smile, "Thanks," she straightened her back, ready to take control of the conversation again, "So what's on your mind?"

"Nothing."

"Okay…"

"This guy at work is a bastard," Chandler blurted out, unaware of how much he had actually wanted to talk about it until the words flew from his mouth.

"What'd he do?"

Chandler laughed, "What didn't he do?" Monica watched Chandler patiently as he gathered the strength to continue, "He stole away my girlfriend. That was when it -" he motioned to the room around him, "This all began."

Monica shook her head, "What a terrible thing to do!"

"He won't ever let me forget it."

"How long were you dating the - her?"

"A year. The two of them met at a work Christmas party and hit it off much more than I'd thought. She broke up with me for him three weeks later," Chandler paused, "I really thought I loved Kathy."

"Well, I don't know about you, but I believe that if it doesn't happen, it's not meant to be," she pushed back a strand of loose hair as Chandler stared at her blankly, "What I mean is, If she left you, then it wasn't meant to be. She wasn't good enough for you."

Chandler shook his head, "If that's the case, then there are very few women who _are _good enough for me."

"No really, Chandler, I mean it! You're a really sweet guy, when you want to be. You're the kind of guy every girl wants to be with."

"Right, then why aren't the girls lined up outside my door?"

"Because everyone's too caught up with finding the _wrong _person to find the right one."

"What?"

"Look, first impressions are complicated. On the outside, you may seem like a bitter, sarcastic guy. But, now that I've gotten to know you, I've seen just how loving and attentive you are toward those you care about. That's the side no one really gets to see – the really beautiful one."

Chandler looked away embarrassed, but obviously taken with her words. Even if she was speaking from a medical book and not from her heart, he desperately wanted to believe her. Something unidentifiable in her eyes made him able to believe her.

"Well, looks like our session's over," Monica concluded, standing up and walking over to the corner of the room," I have something for you."

Chandler cocked his head to the side as he watched her uncover a box, "What?"

Monica lifted the box and brought it over to him. Upon closer examination, he realized that the box was not an ordinary box, but was actually a cage. Monica placed the cage on the floor next to his feet. 

"I couldn't stop thinking about your Chopsticks story every since you told me," she began distractedly, as she fiddled with the lock of the cage, "So I decided to get you this," she reached her arms inside the cage and pulled out a small, shivering white cat, stroking its head with her slender fingers as she brought the cat toward her chest. 

Chandler stared at the woman in front of him, at a complete loss of words. She held the kitten out to him and instinctively Chandler opened his arms and cradled the cat. His hands caressed the soft fur of the cat as it began to calm its trembling body. He stared down at the creature in utter disbelief.

"Thanks – I mean, you didn't have to…"

"I know, but I wanted to." Chandler smiled, "Just do me one favor?"

"What's that?"

"Name the cat Chopsticks."

Chandler smiled and nodded, but he already had a name picked out for the kitten – _Monica_. 

Monica mixed unidentifiable ingredients into a yellow mixing bowl, as she hummed happily. Finally, she did not feel exhausted after her day at work. No, her exchange with Chandler had put a bounce in her step that she hadn't known for years. To see him happy made her feel as if she had won a personal battle. 

Rachel entered the living room from her bedroom, smiling at Monica as she approached.

"Someone's very happy today."

"Yup."

"What's up?"

"Nothing. I'm just happy. Do I need a reason?"

"No, it's just – you're usually burnt out after work."

Monica shrugged.

"Did you," Rachel's eyes widened, "Did you break up with Richard."

Monica's face fell, "No."

Rachel gave Monica a puzzled look, "Whatever it is, it seems like a 'happy over a guy' type thing…are you and Richard working things out?"

"Uh, no. And it's certainly not over _a guy_!" she added hurriedly, "I'm just in a good mood, that's all."

"All right," Rachel conceded. Years of being Monica's friend told her there was much more to it than what she had been told. Then again, Monica seemed to truly not want to talk about it, and she did not want to push her. Seeing Monica cheerful was a rarity.

Chandler and Joey pulled a piece of pink string across the wooden floorboards as the tiny kitten chased after it, pouncing and delighting in the attention she was receiving. Joey dangled the string and watched in amusement as the cat jumped up on her hind legs and batted at the air. Chandler laughed and rose from his knees. 

As soon as he stood up, Phoebe entered the apartment, the sound of the door opening frightening the kitten into hiding, under the couch in the living room. 

"Phoebe!" Joey admonished, "You scared Chopsticks!"

Joey rushed to the couch and tried to lure the cat out from underneath with the string. Phoebe turned to Chandler and mouthed, 'chopsticks?' but Chandler just shrugged, amused, in response. Carefully, the cat slinked out, beginning to gnaw at the string as she had been previously.

"Aww!" Phoebe cooed as she rushed over and began to pet the cat. She looked up at Chandler briefly with curious eyes, "Why'd you get her?"

"Well I was passing by, uhh, the shelter, and she just looked so adorable that I had to get her," he lied.

"Awwwww," Phoebe repeated, smiling at Chandler before returning her attention to the cat, "You're just one big softy after all, aren't you?" 

Chandler beamed, "I guess so."

Phoebe reached over and stroked his arm, "You've been so much happier lately."

  
  
Chandler shrugged. 

"I'm glad."

She waited to see if Chandler would contribute anything more to back up her theory, but he just knelt down beside her, straight faced, and played with the cat once more. Perhaps Chandler did not open up to her anymore, but she could still read his face like a map. There was something much deeper than just a cat that was making him so cheerful; she just didn't know what that something was. She would find out sooner or later, though. Phoebe had faith that, when the time was right, Chandler would tell her. She briefly snuck a glance at Chandler. They were, after all, still best friends – weren't they? 

**_A/N: _**_Yeah, I really have nothing to say here cuz I rambled at the top. ;p Well, please review, or, like I said, I'll ramble even more, mwahaha! (no, not that! Anything but that! Think of the children! Won't somebody please think of the children!) I should so not be updating at 1 AM… _


	7. The Price of Friendship

**_Waiting _**_– Chapter 7_

_The Price of Friendship_

**_A/N: _**_Well, this fanfic has broken 100 reviews. Yay, thanks you guys! The reviews are so nice and you guys just rock! You're all my lucky pennies. ;)_

Joey exited his bedroom and walked swiftly over to the television, shutting it off without a second glance.

"Hey, Joey!" Chandler admonished, before rising from his chair, "I was watching that!"

Joey raised an eyebrow, "You were really that interested in an infomercial about car wax?"

Chandler looked down, "I happen to be very concerned about my car's well being."

"Oh," Joey paused, "Wait… you don't have a car!"

Chandler sighed and covered his face with his hands. When he removed them, he noticed Joey was still standing in front of the television set. "What's up, Joe?"

"I, umm, I," Joey scuffed the floor with his shoe, "I need you to come on a double date with me."

"Joey, I'm flattered, really," he deadpanned, "But I'm not interested in you that way."

"Chandler!" Joey shouted, exasperated, "_Please_ will you come out with us?"

"No! Joey, don't you remember what happened on the _last _blind date? How about the time before that?"

Joey shuttered, "In my defense, I didn't know the last one was an ex-con…"

"Not the point. I just don't want to go out on any of your crazy dates."

"Aww, come on – just one night!"

"No! Now leave, so I can watch my infomercial in peace!" Chandler turned the television back on, "Aww, man, it's over!" he shook his head, "Nothing but regular commercials, damnit!"

Joey shut off the television again. "Chandler, _please_ just do this for me!"

"Why should I?' Chandler challenged him with his eyes.

"Because you're my friend!"

"And if you were _my _friend, you would leave me alone when I said 'no' numerous times…"

"Chandler –"

"And there's the word again – NO!"

"Come on, a date could do you really well! You haven't been on one since Kathy!"

Chandler recoiled. Joey immediately regretted the words he'd said. They burned like acid through the thick atmosphere of the apartment. Joey could almost feel his lungs feel with smog.

"No."

"Right," Joey mumbled, "You can't go because you're in love."

"With Kathy?" Chandler laughed, "Right."

"No, not with Kathy. With _Monica_."

Chandler bolted upright, "What are you talking about?!"

"Chandler, you don't think I haven't heard you call that cat Monica?!"

"What?"

"It's so obvious that you're in love with her! Every time anyone mentions her, you either get mad or blush."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Chandler replied through gritted teeth.

Joey shrugged, "I know what I see."

At that moment, Chandler hopped out of his seat and lunged for Joey. Completely taken by surprise, Joey was immediately pinned to the ground. Each time Chandler's fist made contact with his friend's face, he let out some of the pent up anger inside of him. He hated Joey at that moment. Well, he actually hated everyone – but Joey was there, so he hated Joey the most. The suggestion of he and Monica was preposterous. It made him want to chop off his own ears. It was so wrong. It was so utterly wrong that it was, in effect…right.

Chandler felt dizzy and pulled away. Joey continued to lay on the ground, stunned by his friend's reckless reaction. Maybe Joey was right. Maybe – but he couldn't admit it. Instead, he crawled back and sent his fist crashing into Joey's jaw, relieving his anger and frustration in one of the only people he actually cared about. It was the ultimate price of true friendship.

--

Monica crossed her arms and shook her head, as Joey finished recounting the story of the previous day. Chandler sulked in his chair, her scolding appearance suddenly reminiscent of a schoolteacher. She turned to him, a frown residing on her pale face, as her eyes demanded an explanation – an explanation Chandler was anything but willing to reveal.

"I don't understand why _he_," Chandler pointed to Joey, "Has to be here!"

"Well, he was directly involved," Monica informed him, "Besides, I like to make you suffer."

Joey began to laugh, but a sharp look from Chandler challenged him to continue.

"Why did you do it? Why did you attack your best friend?"

"I wouldn't say attack…" Chandler mumbled.

"I would!" Joey cried, soliciting a negative response from both Monica and Chandler.

"He just said some stuff," Chandler admitted, hoping to not have to discuss the part that Joey had miraculously left out of his version of the story, "That's all."

"Stuff?" Monica questioned innocently, "What kind of stuff?"

"Just stuff."

"I wanted him to go on a blind date."

"Yes, you told me that, but it doesn't seem like reason enough to attack you, Joey."

Joey shrugged in response. After all, it wasn't he who had reacted in that manner. He would be damned if he could understand why he was, in turn, greeted with such a response.

"I also mentioned his ex, Kathy."

"Yes, you told me that, too," she turned to Chandler, "Was that what made you upset?"

"Yes," he lied through gritted teeth.

Joey chuckled, "No it wasn't! It was because I –" he stopped when he noticed Chandler glaring at him, "Because I, uh, I don't know," Joey turned helplessly to Chandler, "Why was it again?"

"This is so stupid."

Monica ignored Chandler, "Joey, tell me what you said that made Chandler so upset."

"Just some stuff about his ex."

"That wasn't it and you know it," Monica focused again on Chandler, "Either _you_ tell me what he said, or I'll get Joey to tell me instead. It's a win-win situation for me, Chandler."

"Fine," he huffed, "He said…he said…well, he said that I was in love with you," Chandler mumbled the last lines almost inaudibly.

"What?" Monica asked, attempting to hide her shock at this revelation.

"He said I was in love with you, but I'm not!" he added quickly.

Joey waved his hand in disbelief, "Pfft."

"Well, Joey, what made you think that Chandler was in love with me?"

"He has this cat," Joey described, "It's white and he told its name is Chopsticks. But, when he thinks I'm not around, I've heard him call her 'Monica'."

Out of the corner of her eye, Monica could see Chandler hit his forehead in – was it anger? Embarrassment? Perhaps a bit of both, she decided. She refocused her attention upon Joey.

"Really? Did you know I bought that cat for him?"

"You – you did?" Joey frowned, "Chandler told us he picked up the cat from the shelter."

Monica turned to Chandler, feigning insult, "I get you a gift and this is how you thank me?! You can't even tell people I got you the cat," Chandler blushed, "I'll never understand men."

Joey looked toward Monica and then toward Chandler, "So that's why you named it Monica?"

"Yup," Chandler answered, feeling frustrated with his friend, but content at winning a battle, all at the same time.

"Oh, I'm sorry man, it's just – but wait!" he paused, "What about that time you called out Monica's name in your sleep?"

"What?!" Monica and Chandler both asked in shocked unison.

"Yeah, yeah," he began distractedly, "It was when you were sick."

Chandler blanched, "I called out her name?"

"Yeah, twice."

"You're lying," Chandler muttered, knowing very well from the vivid dream he'd had that night that Joey was telling the truth.

"Well obviously," Monica interjected, "He called my name because he sees me as a form of comfort."

"Don't flatter yourself," Chandler deadpanned.

"Would you like to go with the first interpretation?!" she shot back.

"No," he croaked.

"Anyway, as I was saying…he was sick. His dream was obviously a nightmare. He was calling my name because he affiliates me with one who helps him out of tough spots – you know, mentally and emotionally."

Joey pondered her words for a few moments, trying desperately to grasp what she was saying.

"What I mean," she explained, noticing his distress, "Is that Chandler sees me as his comfort – like…a security blanket, in a way. He was calling out my name because he wanted me to be there and comfort him."

Revelation washed over his face, "Oh!" he turned to Chandler, "I'm sorry I accused you of being in love with Monica."

Chandler frowned, "It's okay."

"And Chandler, I think you owe _someone _an apology as well."

"Fine," he faced Joey completely, "Joe, I'm sorry for hurting you."

"And…" Monica persuaded.

"And I'm sorry for insulting your mother."

"And…?"

"And I'm sorry for hiding all the spoons while you were sleeping."

"That's all right," Joey agreed easily, before rising and holding his arms open for Chandler. Though reluctant at first, Chandler allowed himself to be engulfed in a bear hug.

Monica was beaming, "There you go! You're lucky you have such a great friend, Chandler."

Chandler cleared his throat and sat down once more, glaring at her. Monica ignored him and instead looked at one of the clocks on the wall. "I think our session's over. This went very well. Thank you for coming, Joey."

"No problem."

"Bye you guys."

Chandler didn't even attempt to respond. He was beyond furious with her. She snuck a glance at his furious face - Joey was just making the 'love' theory up, right?

"Bye!" Joey responded in Chandler's place.

"Hey Joe," Chandler tried as the two walked through the waiting room, "Don't all those clocks annoy you?"

"Yeah!" Joey agreed anxiously, "They make me nervous that I'm late for something!"

Chandler smiled triumphantly and then looked down at his watch, "Hey…didn't you have an audition that started ten minutes ago?"

Joey thought for a few moments, as they made their way through the waiting room. "Aww, crap! And I forgot my sandwich in Monica's office! I'll be right back."

Joey jogged back toward her office, while Chandler just shrugged and went outside to hail a taxi.

Joey knocked lightly before entering the office once more. Monica looked up from the papers she was working on behind her desk and smiled kindly at him.

"Hey Joey, what can I do for you?"

Joey looked around, "Oh, I found it!" he grabbed his sandwich and then smiled sheepishly, "I'd forgotten my sandwich."

Monica smiled, "That's all right."

"Hey," he began suddenly, "Thanks for letting me come today."

"Not a problem."

"I really care about him."

"I can tell."

"Is he gonna be all right?"

She put down her pen and cocked her head to the side, "Yeah. He's gonna be fine."

"You know, he's always been a bit strange – even before Kathy dumped him."

"Strange? How so?"

"Well, it was never anything major – not like psycho or anything, but he'll just sit outside for hours and watch people walk past him."

"Yeah, we've discussed that."

"Oh, then I guess you know about his water thing, too?"

"Water thing?"

"Yeah, Chandler _hates _water. He'll never get near it, unless he has to shower. He even keeps an umbrella with him whenever there's even just the _slightest _chance of rain."

"Huh," Monica responded, "That's interesting."

"He…he didn't tell you that himself?"

"Well, we haven't quite gotten to the topic of phobias yet."

"Oh, well it's just –"

"Don't worry. He'll never know you told me."

"Thanks," Joey responded, relieved, "Well, I'm gonna go. Chandler's gonna get suspicious soon."

"All right, thanks for coming today."

"My pleasure!"

Monica watched as Joey exited the office. Once he left, she absently began to gnaw lightly on the cap as she thought. Suddenly, an idea struck her. She smiled triumphantly, before resuming her previous work.

**_A/N: _**_Ya, okay, I know it might not be realistic to have Joey come with to a therapy session, but it works for this fic. Plus, I'll deal with it a little more later. Ya, umm, I guess it's back to writing a play script for English class. There are worse assignments I could working on… ;) Please review, thanks for reading! :D (Oh and the good part's coming up **really **soon – and by good I mean…Mondlerness.) _


	8. So Right

**_Waiting_** _– Chapter 8_

_So Right_

**_A/N: _**_I fell today. It was raining in between classes and I had to walk outside to get to my history class on time from Spanish (they're on opposite ends of the world!) and I took one step back into the building and, well, you know how the traction is on Old Navy flipflops… (they rock - $3.50, ya babie!) Anyway, that was embarrassing and then my toe started bleeding (dunno how in the world that happened from slipping) and all my Spanish papers fell on the floor b/c my language notebook is falling apart. Heh. Then, the next period, I asked my French teacher for a band-aid (my History teacher's annoying, I would never ask him for anything. Plus, he wasn't there and we had an assembly thingy that period) and she said she didn't have any but asked where I was bleeding, so I showed her my toe, and she screamed really loudly and scared me. I can't tell if she was joking or not; it wasn't that bad of a cut. -shrug- I have no idea why I just told you guys all that. :p I'm lonely; no one's been online all night even though certain people said they would -cough-Yennifer-cough-. :( Anyway, hopefully this chapter will be somewhat enjoyable. ;) Thanks for all the lovely reviews on the last chapter – do it again and help my toe heal! (I'm so hyper)_

'Okay,' Monica told herself, 'Maybe inviting Joey to a session without Chandler's consent was not the smartest idea.' This thought was only re-enforced as she became increasingly aware of Chandler's piercing, accusing stare. 'It might have created problems between the two of them,' she reluctantly realized, 'Or…ohh…' she looked away sheepishly, 'This must have made him feel like a child. He's accused me of doing that before…'

"Chandler?" she questioned carefully.

"Hmm?"

"Would you like – would you like to go on a walk?"

He shrugged, finally focusing his eyes upon the wall instead of Monica, "Whatever."

"Great," she rose and waited for him to do the same before heading out of the office, "It's really a nice day for so late in the fall…"

"Yeah."

The two fell into an uneasy silence as they walked through the building and out a back door. Monica led him through the grounds. As a light breeze washed over his face, Chandler began to realize that it was actually a very beautiful view. The campus, spread out over a few acres, had a surprisingly vast amount of green-land for an institution in the city. He had not cared much to explore before, but now he allowed himself, with the comfort of Monica a few paces ahead of him, to really experience the scenery. He looked skyward for a bit, watching and listening to the birds chirping, as they began their migration south for the upcoming winter.

Monica slowed a bit, until she was walking in step with Chandler. He placed his hands into his pants pockets and stared ahead. She cleared her throat and, after a moment, he slowly turned his head toward her.

"Are you upset with me?" she asked, trying to sound innocent.

"Am I upset with you?" she nodded, "What do you think?"

"Yes," she stopped walking and so did he, "I'm _so_ sorry, Chandler," she put her hand on his shoulder and he recoiled slightly. She then removed it, "I obviously wasn't thinking clearly."

"Obviously not."

"I can make mistakes, too, ya know?" she snapped, sounding angrier than she'd intended.

"I know."

"Okay. Well, I'm sorry."

"All right."

Silence overtook them once more, as the sounds of the soles of their shoes hitting the pavement became clear amongst the incessant honking and squealing breaks of the city surrounding them.

"This doesn't feel like a therapy session," Chandler noted with a hint of curiosity evident.

"Yeah? Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, you're not hounding me with questions," she blushed involuntary and brushed a piece of loose hair behind her ear, "Besides," he continued, watching her intently, "We're outside and…stuff."

"Yeah…is that all right?"

"Yeah. It's better, actually."

Monica smiled, "Good," she paused, demeanor changing to solemn, "Would it completely ruin everything if I asked you a question?"

Chandler shook his head, "I shouldn't have even opened my mouth."

She stopped walking, stopping in front of a small fountain, and searched in her pocket for something, "One second."

"All right…" She was acting unusually odd all the sudden.

Suddenly, she took a penny and threw it into the water. Chandler blinked a few times, before raising his eyebrows, clearly amused. "It says 'please do not throw any money, food, or other objects into the fountain'."

"Really?" Monica wondered, surprised, "Well then, I guess it would be even worse for me to do this…"

Before he could register what was happening, he felt a strong push against his shoulders and, losing his balance, fell into the fountain. For a few moments, he just laid there, completely stunned to his core. Suddenly, he began to realize where he was and what was happening – fear arose and then, just a few moments later, it was replaced by anger. He pushed against the side of the fountain with his arms as he rose to a sitting position and then slipped out of the water, glaring at Monica.

"What the hell?!"

"Oh, oh my God, I'm _so_ sorry!" Monica yelled dramatically, "Here, let me dry you off!" And then, before he could stop her, he found himself once again, drenched, and lying in the cold fountain. This time he rose more quickly, and faced Monica with his hands on his hips.

"Are you crazy?!" she spoke, but he interrupted her, all the while moving as far away as possible from the fountain, "Are you _psycho_?!" She tried to speak again, "No! I – this has gone too far, Monica!"

"BUT," she yelled over him, "I don't understand what the big deal is. It's just water."

"Just – just water?" she nodded, "You're right – it _is _just water."

He walked over to the fountain, allowing his hand to graze the gray stone surrounding it. He stopped talking, so Monica cautiously walked over to him.

"If it's just water," he began again, calmly, "Then I guess you wouldn't mind if I did this…"

With one strong push, Chandler had succeeded in pushing Monica into the water. Her knee-length black skirt stuck to her thighs as she tried unsuccessfully to rise. Chandler walked over to her and pushed her down once again. This time, she grabbed onto his tie, causing him to fly on top of her, face first, into the water. He remained on top of her for a few moments, forgetting the water, forgetting his anger, and stared intently into her eyes. She looked back at him, as she fought against all desire to bend her neck forward and kiss his lips – his face was so close.

"Why don't we call a truce?" Monica began shakily, attempting to rid herself of the thoughts she, as a professional, should not have had, "We'll both agree not to push each other into the water."

Chandler nodded and, with some effort, slipped out of the water. After a moment, he held his hand out for Monica. She studied him for some time, challenging him with her eyes to push her back into the water, before firmly grasping his hand. He pulled her out with ease, and the two of them stood silently facing each other. Suddenly, Chandler cleared his throat uncomfortably and turned away.

"What?"

"Uh, it's just," he cleared his throat again, "Your shirt – it's…well…"

Monica looked down, realizing that she had removed her black jacket before they left the building, leaving on only a white button down blouse, which now, with the water, had become see-through. She blushed and crossed her arms discreetly over her chest. Chandler slipped his wet suit jacket off of his shoulders and offered it to her. She smiled gratefully and took it.

"What do you say we go inside?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah," he answered, trying not to focus on the fact that his coat would smell like her when she returned it, "That's a good idea."

"Urgh," Chandler groaned when they got inside.

"What?"

Chandler brought his hand, which had been resting on the back of his neck, forward, "I'm bleeding."

"Oh gosh!" Monica hurried into her closet and got out a first aid kit.

Chandler laughed slightly, "You keep a first aid kit in your office?"

"Well, it's always smart to be prepared…"

"Yes, especially if you go around _pushing_ people into fountains that, by the way, are not meant to be swam in…"

"That and," she continued, ignoring his sarcasm, "One time this guy kind of came at me with a pen," she chuckled at the shocked expression on his face, "I've had some interesting patients."

"I can tell."

Monica approached him from behind, and, taking out an iodine cloth, rubbed it against his neck. Chandler winced in pain.

"Sorry, but you don't want it to get infected."

"Right," he mumbled.

Once she finished with the cloth, she took out a band-aid and pressed it against the wound until it was completely covered. As she smoothed over the band-aid with her fingers, chills broke out all over his body; he could feel her warm breath against his damp skin. Her fingers mingled upon his skin just a moment too long.

Monica breathed in deeply, "Right," she mumbled, removing her hands abruptly from his skin, "All finished."

Chandler turned around, "Thanks."

"Uh-huh," she answered in a high-pitched tone she did not recognize as her own.

Chandler caught her eye and the two stared at each other for a minute that felt like an eternity. Monica broke the gaze hastily. He was still gazing at her. He just wanted to touch her, just wanted to kiss her. He couldn't help but touch her, couldn't help but kiss her…

"Well!" she stated uncomfortably, "We should probably –"

Before she finished her sentence, Chandler's lips were on hers. The kiss was soft at first – hesitant, questioning. He knew he should not be doing it; he knew he should break away, apologize, and leave her forever. However, he couldn't leave – especially not when Monica's mouth tasted so sweet – especially not when he felt her kiss back with growing hunger.

Chandler pushed Monica against the wall, as her hands ran through his hair frantically. It was not until the moment their lips made contact that the two of them realized just how much they had been longing to be together all along. The anger, the frustration, the yearning, all came together as Chandler kissed Monica's neck and fumbled with the buttons of her still-damp blouse. Once he unbuttoned her shirt, he pushed it, along with his jacket that she had been wearing, off her shoulders. Monica lifted Chandler's head and met his lips with hers, before wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. What she was doing might have been wrong, but she couldn't stop. She had never done something so wrong that felt so utterly right.

Monica removed her hands from his neck and ripped his shirt off his body, causing buttons to fly all over the ground. As he allowed her hands to graze his chest, Chandler removed her bra and licked, kissed, and nibbled at her pale skin. After a moment, though, his lips made their way back up her neck before he stopped all together. She ceased her own affectionate kisses to look at him curiously.

He took his index finger and brushed a strand of stray hair behind her ear, as he had constantly watched her do. She smiled and blushed. He reached his hands behind her head and, struggling, removed the clip that held her hair up in a bun. He watched as her dark hair tumbled down and framed her face, the smell of her shampoo filling his nostrils. Remembering the day she had come to visit him in the hospital – the first time he had seen her with her hair down – he hugged her small frame tightly against his body and kissed her again.

She pulled away slightly, removing his pants and boxers in one swift motion, before rejoining even closer than before. His hands drifted slowly down to her thighs, hovering slightly above her stocking-covered skin. Monica's hands explored his body hastily and she felt the warmth of his skin against hers. Still not quite touching her, his hands reached up inside her skirt before pausing. They kissed again, the strokes of his tongue slow and hard against hers. Suddenly, he felt warm tears fall from her eyes as they slipped down upon his own chest. He pulled away and stared puzzlingly into her eyes.

"What's wrong?" he whispered, breaking the silence neither had noticed before, "I'll stop."

"No, no, don't," she sniffed and kissed his lips softly, "I've just been waiting for this for so long."

Normally, he would have been shocked to hear those words, but all he could focus on was the sight of the woman in front of him. He embraced her once more, slipping his hands again under her skirt and removing her stockings and panties, "Me too."

"Really?"

He nodded against her neck before kissing the taunt skin once more. She felt his nose prod against her neck before his lips once again found hers. He kissed her lightly, showing her that there was more to this than desire. With his kiss, she was assured that she was not just a prize - he was not just kissing her in order to gloat that he had 'nailed a shrink.' Why had she waited so long for this?

Chandler bunched her skirt to her waist, placing his hands on her bottom to steady her as she wrapped her legs around him. He kissed her again with urgency, and she responded with equal hunger. She moaned as she felt him enter her. She couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Chandler? I have a boyfriend," she admitted quickly, as she tightened her grip around him, hoping that he would not pull away.

Chandler merely grunted in response, before pushing against her with an almost violent need.

Chandler sank to the floor, as Monica rested on top of him. Their chests heaved against each other and their limbs remained tangled in a heap of passion. Chandler began to kiss Monica's skin lightly. His breath against her sweaty skin caused chills to break out upon her sweaty body. Lying there, she had never felt so content. However, the ticking of the clocks on her walls reminded her of just where she was and, no matter how happy she was feeling, that she had a job to do and a façade to wear. She looked up at one of the clocks, inwardly cursing.

"Chandler?" she whispered hoarsely.

He reluctantly tore away from her skin and looked into her face, "Hmm?"

"Our session's over."

**_A/N: _**_Well? Are we happy? Huh people? Well, I'm excited anyway. ;) This chapter was longer than the last two, since I've received a few complains that they're too short. I'm sorry, last time I checked, reaching over 1,000 words wasn't short, but you all got spoiled with my long chapters at the beginning. :p Well, all right, maybe next time I'll just combine 2 chapters, make them super-long, and take twice as long to update? :p I'm j/k, I'd never do that to you guys. BTW, I know some stuff (especially about Chandler) is still up in the air, but just be patient. Right, please review! Thanks!! :)_


	9. Out the Door

**_Waiting_**_ – Chapter 9_

_Out the Door_

**_A/N: _**_Wow, thanks for the great responses on the last chapter!  I guess you're all rooting for Monica and Chandler to get together – why hadn't I thought of that before?! :p One thing though: Yennifer Ann Perry, you are a pervert!! Unfortunately, I don't think you'll be quite as excited about this particular chapter, but this fanfic is almost over, so just stick with it, will ya? :) _

Chandler dressed slowly, sneaking glances at Monica as she fixed her hair and makeup with intricate precision. She was being incredibly careful to cover up any sign of the previous two hours. He bent down to tie his shoes. Was that a sign of what was to come? Would this day mean absolutely nothing? Chandler glanced at Monica from his squatting position. She noticed him looking, and turned away.

'It doesn't matter all that much, anyway,' Chandler told himself as he straightened, 'This wasn't – anything.' Why would Monica go for him, anyway? She was the queen and he was the joker. Could it be embarrassment?

He noticed, in the corner of his eye, that she was now, in turn, watching him. He turned slowly and attempted his best at a smile. It was a pathetic attempt though, and he quickly resumed his previous frown.  He fumbled to find words, in fear that he would say the wrong thing – come off too desperate. She did not speak either and he idly wondered whether she was afraid of something, too. But then again, perhaps she was just afraid of hurting him.

"So…" Chandler began, breaking the awkward silence but making no obvious move to start a conversation.

"So…" she repeated, pausing emphatically, "You should really go – you know?"

He suddenly remembered her confession – the boyfriend – and his silent hopes were shattered in an instant. 'You would have to earn her love,' Chandler told himself, 'And you've never given her a reason to love you.' He had been mean and unyielding to her – certainly, no one could fall in love with a man like that. Not that she would have fallen for him anyway, but –

"Chandler," she stated, breaking him from his thoughts.

"Right," he whispered sadly, "So, this is just –"

She took in a shaky breath and leaned over to straighten her wrinkled skirt against her legs, "Yeah."

He nodded under the pretence of agreement. However, inside, his mind was asking 'why,' while his heart was desperately screaming the same question. Why did they have to leave the idea of "them" to a single, isolated day? No, he knew about the boyfriend and the patient-doctor relationship, but _why_? Why did any of that have to matter? 'Why' was getting him nowhere though, he realized as Monica bit her lip apprehensively. The question would not help him now.

Slowly, he headed toward the door, passing but never looking Monica in the eye. Her head was bowed slightly, eyes averted to the gray-carpeted floor. Her breathing was deep and ragged, as her heart beat wildly in her chest. This would be the moment that everything would turn upside down again. As soon as Chandler left the room, she knew she would collapse into a heap of sobs. But he had to leave. He had to leave because – well, she wasn't sure exactly. The boyfriend, right. 'Richard,' she emphasized in her head, 'Richard, damnit!' He wasn't really there, though. Every moment she had ever spent with him suddenly felt like a surreal dream. But Chandler – she could still feel his fingertips against her skin – and she was torn. All she was sure of was that she and Chandler together equaled nothing but disaster. She was not the woman he thought she was. It would end in heartbreak for both of them.

"Monica?"

He watched as her head snapped forward expectedly, but then, just as quickly, the look on her face melted into a hard stance of disapproval. He felt his cheeks grow warm. Swiftly, before Monica could register what he was doing, he moved back and kissed her. She almost fell over from the surprise and intensity of the kiss, but allowed herself to be carried away into that calm world once more as she kissed him back. But then, all too quickly, the kiss ended and Chandler was heading out the door.

"I guess I'll see you next week."

"Yeah," Monica whispered to his disappearing form, fingers resting lightly on her lips, "See you next week."

Had she just let everything she had ever been waiting for walk out the door?

Tears streamed down Monica's cheeks as she sat on the couch in the living room of her apartment. Her legs were tucked underneath her bottom, arms wrapped around her body, as she clutched a white, cordless phone in her left hand. She could not stop the tears from flowing, no matter how hard she tried. She felt so lost and utterly confused.

Monica heard the door open and she tried in vain to wipe the tears from her face and hide her dreary demeanor. It worked for a time though; when she first entered the apartment, Rachel was completely oblivious to her friend's distress.

"Hey Mon, do I have any phone messages?"

"No," Monica answered, trying to sound as normal as she possibly could after spending the past thirty minutes crying.

It was not, however, enough to trick Rachel, who immediately sensed the tone in Monica's voice. She then moved close to Monica, noticed the pink-rimmed eyes and blotchy face, and immediately engulfed her in a hug. Monica's tears began to flow freely once again.

For a while, Rachel merely let Monica sob on her shoulder, rubbing soothing circles upon her back. She had been so startled to find Monica in such a position. While Rachel had seen Monica upset and witnessed her bouts of depression, she could not remember a time in her life when Monica had so blatantly revealed her emotions. Usually, it was Rachel who was crying on Monica's shoulder, not the opposite. Therefore, she sensed that whatever it was that happened must be extremely painful to her distraught friend. 

"Sweetie?" she attempted, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Monica shook her head against Rachel's chest.

"Are you sure? You can just tell me a little something. It'll make you feel better."

Monica detached herself and looked up into Rachel's eyes, pondering the offer. She really needed to talk about everything. 'A little a time,' she warned herself while she nodded at Rachel, 'Don't make this worse than it already is.'

"I broke up with Richard."

"Oh," Rachel replied, confused by the sadness that this deed entailed, "But I thought you wanted to?"

"I – I did."

"Okay," she began carefully, "I know I never really understood the, umm, extent – of your relationship with Richard, but I'm not sure I understand why you're upset."

"It's not Richard – at least not really," Rachel cocked her head to the side and rubbed Monica's arm soothingly, "It's – it's…another man."

Rachel paused. She had not been expecting that revelation. She furrowed her brow, "Another man?"

"Yeah," Monica repeated, "Another man."

"Really – I mean – did you – I mean…that's so not like you," she finished meekly.

"I know," she picked at a loose thread on the white couch, "I know."

"Who? How long?"

"It was just once – today! That's why I broke up with him!" she defended but then weakened, "Just…a few hours too late."

"Oh Honey. Is that what this is about?" Monica nodded, "Look, I'm not going to say that what you did was rightm but you're human. You weren't satisfied being with Richard anymore."

"I know, but I shouldn't have held onto him."

Rachel bit her lip, refraining herself from answering. Monica, however, knew that Rachel was inwardly agreeing with the statement.

"I was scared of letting go of him."

"Why?"

Monica hesitated. How could she answer? How could she describe the feeling she got when she was in Richard's arms? Rachel wouldn't be able to understand, but she tried anyway, "It was comfortable. It reminded me of a simpler time. It was familiar. I hate change."

Rachel nodded, but still looked slightly confused. 'At least she's trying to understand,' Monica decided.

"So, who's the other man?"

Monica licked her lips nervously, having been apprehensive of this question from the start. "His name's Chandler."

"And…?"

She couldn't help the slight smile that crept upon her face, "I dunno…he's just…I don't even know! I just – I really like him."

Rachel smiled in return, "Yeah? So, what's the problem?"

Her smile was quickly replaced by a frown as she shook her head, "Complicated. Much too complicated."

"How?"

"Well, he's…" Monica looked away, "He's one of my patients."

Rachel stared at Monica in shock. It took all of her self control just to keep her jaw from crashing down upon the floor. Monica – practical, private, in control of it all Monica – had a crush on one of her _patients_? Normally, she was so professional that she would never even let out a single detail about one of her patients! It was much too insane to believe.

"I shouldn't have said anything," Monica moaned upon Rachel's reaction.

"No, no! Honey, it's not your fault. You can't help who you have feelings for!"

"I know, but…it's so unprofessional. And it – it just can't happen."

"Well…you two…slept together, right?" Monica nodded, "That means he probably feels something, too." Monica shrugged, "I'm sensing there's another reason for not getting together."

"It's just –" she looked up at Rachel and shook her head, "It's too complicated."

Before Rachel could formulate an argument, Monica had risen from her place on the couch and slammed her bedroom door. Rachel sighed. What could she do?

Chandler stumbled into his room and fell onto his bed, staring up at the bleak, white ceiling. He wished he could just turn off his thoughts, but the harder he tried, the more they filled his mind. For once, he wanted to be alone – in his room, not sitting on some stoop, watching strangers pass by. He thought of how ironic this was. The things that used to comfort him all the sudden became the things he dreaded, while what he dreaded became his comfort.

He closed his eyes and remembered how Monica felt in his arms. The smell of her hair filled his nostrils. Her infectious giggle, her soft hair… He wished her could hold her in his arms again.

Vaguely, he began to wonder how Monica was feeling. Was she upset? Did she long to be in his arms as well? Did she even care at all? Suddenly, another thought crossed his mind. Last time, when he had his heart broken by a woman he loved, he wanted to end his life. Yet, even though now he could not be with Monica, he still wanted to live. He wanted to live _for _her. Then again, he frowned, Monica technically had not broken his heart. After all, she never had his heart to begin with.

One day. That was it. How could one day mean so much? It couldn't. It just couldn't. Well, it _did _mean that much and more to him, but it _shouldn't_. Why couldn't he just push it out of his mind? Sex, no strings attached, with a beautiful woman – any other man would kill to be in his predicament. He, in turn, longed to be one of them – to write the day off as just another day, and a lucky one, at that.

He felt the weight on his bed shift slightly, and then, a moment later, he felt paws on his stomach as the white kitten settled on his stomach.

"When'd you get in here, huh, Mon?" he cooed.

He reached up and caressed her head with two fingers as he closed his eyes, allowing himself to settle with the sounds of her steady purring as it filled the room. One lone tear slipped down his cheek. The cat's tail brushed his face, drying the tear from his face. He fell into a fitful sleep.

**_A/N: _**_Yes, I know this chapter was "short" (I hardly consider anything over 1500 words short, but oh well.) Hopefully, I'll be able to finish this fic with my extra day off from school, so that I'll be able to update even when I won't have time to write  ::glares at final exams:: Please leave me a review, thanks! :)_


	10. Taking a Stand

**_Waiting_**_ – Chapter 10_

_Taking a Stand_

**_A/N: _**_Argh. As if finals aren't enough, now I'm sick. So I have to study and I feel like shit. Lovely. I was supposed to see Harry Potter today, but my friend canceled on me so ::sigh:: I was really, **really ** looking forward to that. But we rescheduled for Friday - our last day of school (and my birthday) – so if she doesn't cancel again, it'll all work out. This time next week, I will be free. FREEDOM! I can almost taste it. Thanks for the great reviews! :) It really makes me happy when people don't flame me. ;) _

**_Yen: _**_Okay, first of all, we've talked like twice this entire week – and when we did talk, I've been more than just a little distracted - when did you expect me to tell you I updated? Secondly__, in response _to, **_"'She was being incredibly careful to cover up any sign of the previous two hours' giggles He lasted two hours? Very impressive." _**_The two hours includes the water fountain thing, you dumb pervert! Oy, what to do with you?_

Monica paced the room as she watched a clock on her wall faithfully. Two minutes. Two minutes until Chandler's appointment would begin. Two minutes until she would see him again. She peered out into the waiting room and saw him sitting there, casually reading a magazine. Two minutes of waiting.

How could he be so casual? She stopped pacing now and gaped at him. Last time she checked, Chandler was the one who was 'the patient.' He shouldn't be the calm one! She shook her head at how silly her thoughts were and closed the door. She looked up at the clock. One minute and twenty-two seconds.

She began to fix her hair in the mirror. 'I can't fix my hair for him!' she scolded, before putting down her mirror and turning away sharply. Thirty-two seconds. She sat down at her desk and tried to read a patient's folder. She couldn't concentrate. Monica looked up at the wall clock again – it was time. She was not sure if this worried or relieved her. Stiffly, she walked into the waiting room and waved Chandler inside her office.

He stepped inside, but remained rooted to his spot next to the door. Now that he was inside, she could feel the tension coming from his end. Perhaps, he had not been as calm as she thought. He stared at her blankly. It began to make her feel even more uncomfortable.

"Okay, um, let's begin…"

She sat down and waited until, after a moment, he too sat in his usual seat across from her. He began to twist a button on his suit. She smoothed her skirt against her legs and leaned forward. She attempted to speak, but found her throat completely dry with anxiety. She licked her lips.

"So, how have you been?"

He frowned, not expecting the question. Inwardly, he scolded himself. It was the first question she asked at every session – how could that surprise him? He sighed. For some reason, he thought things would different now. That was all just wistful thinking.

"I've been better," he answered honestly, "And you?"

"Yeah," she replied quietly, "Same here."

His heart sped up. She's been better? But why? Was she upset, just like him? He tried to hide his apprehension as best as he possibly could.

"Why's that?"

She smiled wryly, "I broke up with my boyfriend."

Oh. It hadn't been about him. He felt as if he had been punched swiftly in the face. But wait! Wait! She had _broken up _with her boyfriend. She broke up with her boyfriend after they had been together! Could this be a ray of light in a darkened alley? He looked up hopefully, but she was already beyond the moment.

"So, how are things going at work?"

At work? He shrugged. He didn't want to talk about work.

"You don't know?"

"No. It's just, nothing's really happened – good or bad. Which I guess is actually good; you know, that nothing bad has happened."

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. What in the world was he rambling about anyway? He could barely hear himself over the pounding of his pulse in his ears.

Monica laughed, "That's good."

Then, came the uncomfortable silence. Chandler squirmed some more. It was the most unbearable silence ever. What could he say to break it? Looking at Monica, he could tell that she, too, was struggling to find something – anything – to make a conversation. However, nothing came. They ended up sitting in silence for the remainder of the session.

Chandler walked into his office building and took a deep breath. He felt confident, for once – like he was living in another man's skin. Maybe that was not so far off, though. He felt like a whole new person, all the sudden. 'Reinvented,' he told himself proudly, 'It's time to reinvent yourself!' With that thought in mind, he walked to his boss' office, ignoring the loud beating of his heart in his chest.

He knocked on the door and waited until he was called in. His boss seemed to be engrossed in some paperwork. He stood as close to the door as he possibly could and waited. Slowly, the man looked up and nodded.

"Bing, have a seat."

Carefully, eyes never leaving the face of the man, he sat down and nervously shifted until he was comfortable.

"What can I do for you?"

"Well, sir," he began, "I would like to report a problem."

"A problem?"

"Yes. You know Tyler O'Brien, works on the 10th floor…in my department?"

"Yes."

"Well, he's been harassing me a lot. Verbally."

Doug paused for a moment and averted his gaze from Chandler's, "Yes, unfortunately, we know about it. People have been filing complaints."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, people have been complaining that O'Brien's been messing with you."

"Really?" he choked. So people really did care? Why had they never said anything to _him_?

"Yes. But Chandler, the problem is…we don't really have much we can do about it."

"What? Why not?"

"Well," he began slowly, "O'brien's grandfather is quite an influential member of the board. There isn't much else we can do about the man. We know he's immature, we know he doesn't work to his potential – but keeping quite about what he does is all _we _can do from keeping the man from taking our jobs!" He shook his head sadly, "I'm sorry, Bing. If I could do something, you know I would. You're very valuable to this company."

Chandler's eyes flashed, "Right, but not as valuable as others" He paused, "You know what? I quit."

Doug dropped the pen he was holding to the floor, "What?"

"That's right, I'm giving you my two-weeks' notice."

"Bing – come on now! Please don't –"

"I'm sorry, Doug, but you leave me no choice."

"We could get you transported to another department!"

Chandler shook his head, "I'm not falling for that!"

"Come on, Bing, be a sport! Do you want a raise? I might be able to get a little something…"

"No," Chandler paused, "No. I came here to fix a situation and buying me off isn't gonna fix it. Unless you do something about Tyler, I quit. I don't like this job enough to suffer anymore." Doug remained silent, "All right then. Thank you for your time, sir." Chandler rose and, taking one last look at his former boss, walked briskly out of the office.

-

Chandler felt like clicking his heals together as he walked – no, as he skipped through the hallways. He truly felt invisible. Nothing could stop him now! He bounded down the familiar corridors, until he arrived at his destination.

"Mr. Bing, you can't go in there now!" the secretary attempted, but Chandler passed her, knowing fully well that she did not care enough to chase after him.

Chandler flung the door open, a huge smile on his face. A woman screamed in surprise, making Chandler jump slightly. Once he saw Monica though, he flew over to her and grabbed her wrist.

"Chandler, what in the hell are you –"

Before she could finish the sentence, Chandler's lips were on hers. Taken by surprise, Monica kissed back for a moment, before she realized the extent of the situation once more. Mustering up her strength, she pushed Chandler away. Slightly out of breath, she gaped at him.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"I'm just –"

"Can't you see I'm in the middle of a session?!" Monica pointed to her distraught patient.

Chandler looked away sheepishly. "I know, it's just –"

"Can't this wait, Chandler?"

"No! Monica, I quit my job!"

"That's…great," Monica said slowly, wondering why he hadn't informed her of this decision beforehand, but then scolding herself for caring.

"It was a spur of the moment thing," he said, answering her unspoken question, "I was just trying to get my boss to make the guy who's always harassing me to stop, and he said he couldn't, so I quit."

Chandler was grinning again. Monica couldn't help but smile, too. "Look, Chandler, I'm very happy for you, but I have to get back –"

"Look, this is a sign!" Chandler continued, ignoring Monica's attempts, "This is a sign not to let things hold you down!"

"Okay?"

He continued in a somber voice, "We should be together."

"Chandler –"

"Don't let the opportunity pass you by, Monica. I know you want it, too."

"Just because you quit your job doesn't mean –"

"Stop making up excuses."

Monica's entire body was trembling now. All thoughts of her other patient were completely gone. "But –"

"Don't let yourself be bound by what you think is right, Monica. Just because you're my therapist, doesn't mean this can't work. Everyone has problems."

"Exactly!" Monica began angrily, making sure he didn't cut her off again, "We all have our problems, even me! Do you know any of them, huh?!"

Chandler paused pensively before shaking his head.

"See! How can you know we're right for each other when you don't even know the real me! I've got problems, too, you know!"

"Then tell me. Tell me everything. I want to know."

She shook her head, "I don't want to be your personal shrink. That's not a relationship."

"I would never expect you to be. We can help each other," Chandler grasped Monica's hands, "We can help each other get over everything. Love conquers it all."

Monica laughed sardonically, "Right."

"It does! True love does!"

"How do you know? Have you ever been truly in love with someone?!"

He nodded, "You."

"Wh – I – well," she stuttered incoherently before she quit attempting to speak.

"Just give it a try, Monica. Just give love a try."

She shook her head as tears began to stream down her face.

"Why not? Give me a _good _reason and I'll leave," she began to speak, but he interrupted her, "Besides that you're my shrink and I don't know any of your problems."

"But Chandler, if you don't know my problems, then how do you know the _real_ me?"

"What?"

"To be in love with someone, you have to _know _their true side, don't you?" Chandler nodded hesitantly, "But you don't know mine. So how can you be in love with me?"

"I love the sides I do know."

"Yeah, the professional sides."

"No! The side you showed me when you can to visit me in the hospital! The side you showed me when we made love!" He brought a finger to her cheek and brushed away her tears, "I hate you as a shrink, Monica," he whispered, "But I know that Dr. Geller is not the same as Monica Geller. I love you when you're _you._"

Monica stared at him in a trance as her heart pounded heavily in her chest. She wanted so much to believe him. Suddenly, before she could make a decision, the patient who had been in the middle of a session began to wail. Monica turned her head sharply and was shocked, not by the sight of her sobbing patient, but to see one of the senior partners scowling at her. Slowly, Chandler turned his head as well and, sensing the trouble, walked toward the man.

"Sir, this is all my fault. Please –"

"I'd appreciate if you leave the premises immediately."

Chandler took a final glance at Monica, whose face had drained of all color, and dejectedly left her office. The man stared hard at Monica, and she quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"Monica, this is very unprofessional."

She looked down at the floor, "I know, Michael. I'm so sorry -"

"We have a certain policy, in case you've forgotten."

"I know, again, I'm terribly sorry and if I could just explain –"

Michael shook his head. Monica had the feeling that, for the first time ever, her future was truly at stake.

**_A/N: _**_Well, I haven't decided whether or not I'll just post one super-long chapter, or two shorter chapters to finish up this fic. So one or more chapters; hang in there. :) Please leave me a review, thanks! Back to studying, yay. :_


	11. What I've Been Waiting For All Along

**Waiting** – Chapter 11

_What I've Been Waiting For All Along_

**_A/N: _**_Yay, today's my last day of school! I just have a French exam this afternoon. ;) Oh and hopefully I'm seeing Harry Potter. Well, I definitely will. If my friend cancels on me again then screw her, I'll go alone. ::is dying to see this movie:: Anyway, If **this **final chapter isn't long enough, then I don't know what is. :p Hopefully, it'll do justice. Thanks for reading! (P.S. Love you, Yen!)_

"Where have you been?!" Rachel demanded, as Monica walked into the apartment the next morning.

Monica rolled her eyes as she noticed the angry looks on both Rachel and Ross' faces, "Out."

"Were you with someone?"

Monica hesitated, "No."

"Did anyone know where you were?"

"Uh, no."

Ross walked over to her and grabbed her arm, "Are you crazy?!"

"What?!" she wriggled out of his grasp, "I can do whatever the hell I want to do!"

"Monica – it's New York City – after dark. What's gotten into you?"

Rachel had frantically phoned Ross at 2 AM, 8 hours after Monica should have arrived home. It was not just because of the dangers of the city streets after dark that Rachel was worried. It was the fact that Monica – the one who was _always _careful about _everything _– was acting in a less than cautious manner that scared Rachel the most.

"Gotten into me?" Monica stared at Rachel incredulously for a few moments, before tears began to pour down her cheeks, "Nothing's gotten into me!"

Ross immediately caught Monica in a tight embrace as Rachel stroked her hair. Rachel caught Ross' eye and gave him a questioning look of sympathy that bordered pain. Ross sighed and rubbed Monica's back for a moment before pulling away. By that time, she had ceased to cry and was sheepishly wiping tears from her eyes.

"What's wrong?" Rachel asked, still stroking her hair, "Was it Ch-"

"Chandler?" Rachel nodded, "Yes. No. I don't know!"

"Well, that narrows it," Ross deadpanned, soliciting a jab in the ribs from a less-than-thrilled Rachel.

"Why don't you start from the beginning?"

"Okay," her bottom lip quivered as she took a deep breath, "I was with a patient. Chandler came in. He told me he quit his job. He told me we should be together. He kissed me. I kissed him back," she paused, "He told me we should be together. I said he couldn't love me because he didn't know my true sides. He claimed he did know those sides and that was the reason he loved me," she turned away from their questioning eyes, "He said he _loved_ me."

Ross and Rachel glanced at each other, both at a loss of words. It seemed clear enough to them that she should give Chandler a try. She obviously loved him in return, considering she made such a big deal out of everything that happened between them.

She continued, "Michael came in. He told me relationships with patients were strictly forbidden and I had agreed to that when I joined the practice. I said Chandler was crazy; we'd never had a relationship. Michael then proceeded to tell me lying was also strictly forbidden," Monica looked down at her shoes, "He saw the kiss. He heard Chandler say we had sex."

"Oh no," Rachel covered her mouth.

"And your job?" Ross questioned. Monica merely shook her head in response, "I'll kill that bastard!" Ross swore, heading toward the door.

Simultaneously, Monica and Rachel dashed to grab Ross. Rachel got there first, pulling him back to the living room by his arm. Brooding, Ross sat down on the sofa, a large scowl present on his face.

"I don't think he meant to get you in trouble, Mon," Rachel whispered.

"I know. He's just so stupid."

Rachel smiled, "Well, he _is _a man."

"Hey!"

Rachel laughed and rubbed Ross' shoulder.

"I just – I can't believe I don't have a job."

"I know, Sweetie," Rachel paused, "But hey, maybe this is a good thing!"

Ross let out a disbelieving, "Pah-ha!"

"No, seriously. You can do what you really love to do now."

"I really love to be a psychiatrist."

"No you don't, Mon. Anyone with two eyes can see what you _really _want to do."

"What?" Ross demanded, "I don't know!"

Monica couldn't help but giggle as Rachel shook her head, "That's because you never take the time to open your eyes."

"That's not true!"

"Hey, who is this about – me or you, Ross?!"

He looked away sheepishly, "Sorry, Mon."

"Anyway, you should become a chef. It's what you really want, isn't it?"

Monica hesitated before nodding.

"I think you have reason to thank Chandler."

Monica shook her head vehemently. She began to sift through her phone messages to distract her. She paused, reading one note carefully, before looking up at Rachel. "Did you take this message from my mom?"

"Yup."

"She wants to have _dinner _with us?!"

"Oh right," Ross remembered absently, "Tomorrow night."

"Oh no, no no!" Monica covered her eyes.

"What?"

"She doesn't know that I was fired!"

"So?"

"So?! So, she's never gonna let me live it down! And then there's the whole Richard thing – she was so smug about it when she found out I broke up with him…"

"Well, you'll just have to tell her," Rachel replied softly. She knew how hard that would be on her friend, considering the shaky relationship Monica had with her mother to begin with.

"Or…" Monica's face lit up, "I won't tell her."

"She'll just find out in the long-run," Ross reminded her.

Monica turned fiercely, "Don't you **dare **tell her _anything!_"

Ross raised his hands in mock defense, "Okay, okay!"

"Damnit!" she paused, "Maybe that's not so bad…" Monica reached into her purse and flipped through her phone book. When she landed on the page she was looking for, she smiled triumphantly and began to dial. Rachel tried to peek over her shoulder, but Monica quickly closed the book again. "Damnit, got the answering machine!" Monica quickly threw the book into her shoulder bag, before putting on her jacket and heading out the door. Rachel and Ross shared a confused look.

"Monica!" Ross called, "Where are you going?! It's 3 AM!"

Monica paused, "Right." She threw the bag down and shrugged off her coat, before heading toward her room, "I'll go first thing tomorrow morning."

"Go where?"

Monica didn't answer her brother. Instead, she went into her room and laid down on her bed, knowing fully well that sleep would not come to her any time soon.

-

Chandler awoke to pounding on the door. He rubbed his eyes and turned on his side to look at the clock. It was 7 AM and he was exhausted. He hadn't gotten much sleep that night, not that he had any other night in the recent past. He sighed and dragged his feet across the floor, slowly reaching the door, where the pounding continued incessantly.

When Chandler opened the door, he felt his blood run cold at the sight of her. He hadn't been expecting to ever see Monica again, especially not showing up randomly at his door. Suddenly, he was so nervous that he could barely breathe, let alone formulate words. They stood at the door, studying each other for a few moments, before Monica shifted her attention to the apartment behind him.

"I hope you're happy," she stated bluntly.

"Wha – excuse me?"

"Don't act dumb. I was fired."

"Oh," he paused, "Oh I'm _so _sorry, Monica, I didn't mean to –"

"Yeah, I know," she interrupted distractedly, "You owe me a favor."

"Of course - anything!"

"Come with me to dinner tonight."

"Wha – okay…"

"All right, come over to my apartment at 5," she scribed her address onto a scrap piece of paper she had in her purse as she spoke, "I just have a few rules."

"Rules?"

"Yeah. We're going to my mother's house."

"Your mother?" he wondered, perplexed, "What?"

"Yeah. Oh and you're my new boyfriend."

"I –"

"But not for real."

"What? This makes no sense!"

"Just pretend to be my boyfriend; you can do that, right?"

"Wha? No, I can't pretend to be your boyfriend! I can be for real, but you can't expect me to just…pretend."

"I know," she whispered, blinking back tears as she stared at the floor.

"Hey," he moved closer to her, "Hey, I'm sorry. If it really means that much to you I'll –"

"No, it's not that," she sighed.

"Well then, what is it?"

She slowly looked up at him and painfully noted the way in which he seemed to be concentrating so intently on her. She shivered under his gaze. This snapped Chandler out of his revere as he sheepishly gestured for her to enter the apartment, too embarrassed of his disrespect to apologize.

She entered slowly, gazing around the apartment as she attempted to collect her thoughts. A slight smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she noticed just how much this slightly cluttered bachelors' pad reflected Chandler's personality – silly, with a touch of sophistication.

Chandler gestured for Monica to sit on one of the brown barcalongers that sat in the middle of the living room, and, once she sat, he sat down beside her. They remained in silence for another moment, until Chandler spun so that his chair was facing her.

"So what is it?" he attempted again.

"It's just – I'm so…"

"What?"

Monica blushed and turned away, "I can't talk to _you_ about this."

"Why not?"

"Because it's about you!"

"Oh. Oh yeah. But ya know, if it's about me…who better to tell? I mean I know me pretty well," he smirked, "Almost as well as you do."

"Right," she chuckled before looking down at her hands, "I dunno, it's just…I feel like…" she took a deep breath, "Ok, I'm just going to say it. I want to be with you. I really _really _do. There are times when I find myself dreaming of what it would be like if we were a couple," he smiled and she continued, "But," and she watched his face fall again, "I feel like it can't happen. It just can't. I want it to, but it can't. And I know you told me to give you a good reason, and I was thinking about it, and you know what? I just _can't _give you a good reason! What I said before still stands. You don't know anything about the real me. No matter how much I wish I could give my heart away to you I just _can't_. The chance of getting hurt is too great."

He remained silent for a few moments, carefully pondering her words. "You're right. You have no reason to trust me," she averted her eyes at his words, "So let me come with you tonight."

Her eyes shimmered as she sharply flipped her head up, "What?"

"Let me come with you tonight," he repeated, "Let me get to know you. Let me in just a little bit," he reached over and took her hands, all fear of rejection and pain beyond him, "I _want _to be there for you."

"Why?"

"Why? Well, for you, because I love you. Why else?"

She nodded and tilted her head as he leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on her lips. They broke apart and she sighed, before his lips found their way to hers again.

-

Phoebe watched Chandler as leaned against the counter and straightened his tie.

"You're crazy."

"That's the fifth time you've told me in the past hour, Pheebs."

"Well, you should listen to me!"

"What's so bad about it, anyway?"

She stared at him crossly, "Where should I begin? Let's see, she was your _psychiatrist. _Uh, what else? Oh yeah, you're pretending to be her boyfriend to trick her mother. Why do I suddenly have this strong feeling of déjà vu? Oh, oh, I think this is what happened in a movie that I watched on _Lifetime_ last night! I can tell you how the night's gonna end before you even g0 out – you'll be stuck as the fake boyfriend to this woman until something happens that makes her dump you. The end."

Chandler flashed her a triumphant smile, "At the end of those movies, the guy usually gets the girl."

"Well, Chandler, I'm afraid this is New York City, not Hollywood. You're on the wrong coast for your happily ever after."

Chandler merely rolled his eyes in response, as he put on his suit jacket and headed toward the bathroom.

"Chandler, I seriously wish you'd reconsider this!" she called from the living room, "Is it really worth putting yourself through so much pain again?"

He frowned, "Again?"

"Well, you know…" she trailed off.

He re-entered the living room, while shaking his head violently, "This isn't like that."

"Right, Chandler," he opened his mouth to protest, but she continued, "Look, I'm not trying to be a bitch or anything like that. I love you and I don't want to see you get hurt!"

"Look, Phoebe, I'm willing to take the chance of getting hurt! I need to put my heart on the line, or I'll never be able to live with myself. I _love _her, Pheebs. I really, truly do, more than I've loved anyone else – even Kathy."

Phoebe averted her eyes, playing with the hem of her shirt as she pondered his words. She looked up, studying him, searching for the truth in his eyes. And, when he looked back at her, she could see that all that he said was true.

"Well what else can I do?" she stood up and embraced him tightly for a minute, "Just be careful, okay?"

He kissed her head before pulling apart, "I will. Thanks."

Phoebe smiled, "Now go – pretend to be some one else."

"Will do!" he said as he headed for the door, "Shouldn't be too hard, considering that's what I did for 10 years at work…"

"Right. Now go on, get out of here," Phoebe joked, as she pushed him toward the door.

Chandler smiled once more at her, before heading out the door. Once he was out of sight, Phoebe squeezed her eyes shut, praying that he would not return to her, heartbroken, yet again.

-

Chandler shifted uncomfortably on the couch, as he sat between Monica and Ross. He was fairly sure that Ross had been giving him nasty looks throughout the meal, although, the more Chandler thought about it, the more he couldn't blame Ross. After all, he got his sister _fired _and was just making her depressed in general. _Not exactly the best first impression_, he thought sarcastically.

Still, as they sat in the living room, drinking coffee and chatting, Chandler could not help but notice the way Monica sat rigid and silent in the spot beside him. He could see that her hands were balled up into fists. He gently put a hand on her knee and was relieved when he saw her grip loosen and a small smile appear on her face. He continued to watch her out of the corner of his eye.

So she had a strained relationship with her mother; he didn't understand the big deal. But he was there for Monica, and he wouldn't dwell on what he couldn't understand. Instead, he smiled and nodded politely when Monica's mother excused herself _and _Monica, to go clean the dishes. Chandler watched longingly as Monica begrudgingly rose to her feet and followed her mother out of the room.

He turned to face Ross and cleared his throat uncomfortably. The two men studied each other intently. Chandler felt his palms begin to moisten, as Ross' glare intensified. _Think of a joke_, he told himself, _Come on, why do you only think of jokes during inappropriate times?! What's wrong with you?! _Chandler watched as Ross began to tap his fingers against the couch armrest. He was sure that this was the longest minute and a half of his entire life.

"So," Chandler finally began, "Did you grow up here?" Ross nodded slightly, "It's a nice house," Ross nodded in response again, his eyes never leaving Chandler's.

Chandler audibly sighed. This was going to be harder than he thought. _How long till Monica gets back?_

-

"So, dear," Judy began, after a minute of silent scrubbing, "Chandler seems nice."

Monica smiled, despite her anxiety, "Yeah, he is."

"Where'd you meet him?"

"A friend from work set us up," she answered automatically.

"I see," she paused as they both continued to clean, "Speaking of your job, I heard a funny little rumor floating around…"

Monica snapped her head forward as her heartbeat began to increase rapidly.

"What?" _I'm gonna kill Ross!_

-

Chandler looked down at his watch. Five minutes. It had only been five minutes. His original anxiety melted into boredom as he shifted in his seat.

"So, Ross, you're a paleontologist? Very interesting. Do you work at a museum?"

Ross finally broke his heavy gaze, "Look Chandler, I know you're trying to make small talk, but let's get something straight – I don't like you."

"I know that," Chandler grumbled, although he felt slightly taken aback by Ross' harsh words.

"I mean, you got my sister fired!"

"I didn't mean to…"

"The thing is," he continued, ignoring Chandler's response, "I would chase you out of this house right now, if it wasn't for one problem…"

"What's that?"

"Well, my sister's in love with you. Even I'm not stupid enough to get in the middle of that. Therefore, considering the fact that she does, in fact, _love you_, despite all you've put her through, I guess there must be _some _reason for this. I'm gonna trust my sister on this one, and help you out a little," Chandler began to thank him, but Ross cut him off, "This isn't for you – this is for my sister."

"Of course."

"Well, first of all, I think you should know the truth about her…"

-

"Dear," Judy began casually, "There's nothing to be ashamed of. Lots of people get fired from their jobs," Monica shrugged, "Why couldn't you just tell me?"

"Well, the fact that I got fired isn't exactly the first thing that comes to my mind when I see you… it's not like I'm proud."

"Yes, but I'm your _mother_. I should know these things."

"Since when do you want to know these things?" Monica spat, surprised by her brashness.

Judy sighed, "I guess I deserve that," Monica shot her a curious look. Monica's mother ceased to scrub the dishes and wiped her hands absently on the towel as she spoke, "How did I let us drift so far apart?"

Monica pinched her wrist, convinced that she must be dreaming. However, the pain spread through her arm, forcing her realize that it was reality – a reality that was more bizarre than any she'd ever encountered before. For as long as she could remember, her mother had been nothing but critical of her. Monica examined her mother carefully. Why, all the sudden, was she acting so, well, motherly?

-

"I think everything started back when Monica was five," Ross began solemnly, "Our father was sick with cancer to the point that it couldn't be treated. Mon and my dad were very close and it was hard for her to deal with it. He had insisted upon staying home for his last weeks, although, I wonder if that was the best decision… our father was never exactly the most logical of men. Anyway, my mother would stay home with him whenever she could, but she had to run a quick errand or – something. Well, he called Monica over to him and told her to lie with him, like they did before she would go to sleep. When she did that, my dad asked her to sing to him, like he used to sing to her, and then…" Off the grim look on Chandler's face, Ross sighed, "Well, I doubt I need to continue…"

"Wow, I – wow."

"After that, she pretty much closed off. I actually only found out this story from her when Monica was seventeen, and she came home, drunk, from a party. She admitted everything then, and, although we never spoke about it again, I think she appreciates that I know. One day I might try to ask her about it, but…we were never _that _close. I mean we're friends, but not close – her best friend doesn't even know this story," he paused and looked away, "I can't even imagine what it must feel like to have a something like that on your chest for so long."

"Wow, I – I don't even know what to say," he admitted sadly.

"It's okay, I wouldn't in your situation, either," Ross paused and glanced down the hall, toward the kitchen, "I doubt you should say anything to her about this. If she wants to tell you, she'll tell you in time. I just thought you should know…" his voice fell to a whisper, "I really hope you can get through to her. No one else could."

Chandler nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling even more love for Monica than he ever thought possible.

-

"Yeah," Judy continued, "I know I'm probably too late, but, _God_, Monica I never even realized what I was doing to you! I – I…just miss _him_ so much."

Monica froze, staring at her mother as the tears began to stream down her face. After helping people overcome their problems for so many years, this was all so new to her. She'd helped people, yes, but never her mother.

"Mom," she exhaled, "I know. I know you miss him. I'm sorry he died."

Judy wiped away tears from her eyes, "Don't be sorry, dear. It's not your fault."

"I know, but I still am sorry he died."

"You two were really close."

Monica studied her mother closely, "Yeah, we were."

Judy nodded. She took in a shaky breath and grasped Monica's hand lightly, "We should really get back to Ross and Chandler now."

"Yeah," Monica agreed quietly.

Monica turned to walk out the door, but stopped when she heard her mom's voice, "I love you, Monica."

Monica turned around and looked into the familiar eyes of her mother. She looked - different, somehow - younger. For once, there was not a trace of contempt in her eyes. No, there was something else – sorrow.

"I love you, too, Mon."

Judy smiled and squeezed Monica's shoulder, before walking toward the living room behind her daughter.

-

Chandler insisted upon walking Monica up to her apartment. The rest of the evening had been relatively calm. Chandler immediately noted a difference in Monica's demeanor, as soon she she'd returned from the kitchen, earlier that night, with her mother. He could tell that she was not acting anywhere near as uptight as she had before. In fact, she was even participating in the conversation and laughing as they made jokes. It, in turn, made Chandler feel more at ease. Her smile always had a way of doing that to him.

However, as they reached her apartment door, he knew that it was, indeed, the end of their night together. Not only that, but it would be their _last _night together – ever. Chandler felt an aching in his heart that spread quickly through the rest of his body. He had to blink away his tears as he looked at her.

"Thanks for doing this for me, Chandler."

"No problem. I had fun."

Monica laughed, "Right."

"Well, it beats sitting at home, watching _The Shopping Channel_."

"Really?"

He smiled, "Yeah."

She blushed, but quickly attempted to hide it by looking down at her shoes. Chandler took this opportunity to move closer toward her. Lifting her chin with his index finger, they stared into each other's eyes for a few moments, transfixed, before Monica leaned forward and kissed him. Chandler was shocked at first, but as he felt her tongue enter his mouth, he allowed himself to completely melt into the kiss. It had been the first time she'd initiated one since they'd made love, and although he was slightly suspicious of her actions, he didn't have the willpower to ponder it.

When the kiss broke, Monica smiled at Chandler, "Well, that was to thank you."

"I'll do anything you want, for another thank you like that," he whispered.

"I have something you could do," she paused, "Kiss me again."

"What?"

"Kiss me again," she repeated.

He raised his eyebrows, but made no protest as he complied, memorizing the feeling of her lips against his own. She raked her hands slowly through his hair, yearning to be as close as she possibly could to him. Chandler wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer to him. When they broke apart for the second time, Chandler's hands remained on her waist as he stared into her eyes.

"What was that about?" he asked, breathlessly.

"It's about us. Chandler, I want there to be an _us_."

"God Monica, you know that's what I want, too…but why?"

"I know I said I was scared of being heartbroken, but I realized something today."

"What's that?"

"Getting your heart broken is part of living," Chandler nodded, "And Chandler," she breathed, "If I'm going to live, then I _only _want to live with you."

He felt chills run up and down his spine at her words, and he leaned his forehead against hers. "What made you decide all this?" he mumbled, before he kissed her cheek.

"My mother."

He pulled back slightly, studying her with raised eyebrows, "Really?"

"Yeah. She let her life be ruled by a broken heart. But now, she helped me see that you can't let that kind of stuff get to you. I'm scared, Chandler, I'll tell you that. I'm more scared than I've ever been. I'm scared of the way you make me feel. I'm scared, but I love it," she breathed.

"I'm scared, too, Mon, but I feel the same way. But you know what's more scary to me than how strong my love is for you?" Monica shook her head against his, "The thought of living another day without you in my arms."

Monica smiled broadly, as tears flowed down her cheeks, "I feel the same way."

Chandler began to wipe away her tears softly with his thumb, "Think of how much time we could've saved if we'd both just figured this out earlier."

Monica laughed through her tears, "Well, Chandler Bing, you were every second of it."

Chandler smiled and whispered, "Right back atcha," before capturing her lips in a slow, sweet kiss.

As their tongues entertained, both Monica and Chandler marveled at how perfect this moment felt. When they parted once more, Chandler began to plant soft kisses on her cheeks.

"Chandler," she mumbled, "I have a question."

"Hmm?"

"This has been driving me _mad_. Will you _please _tell me why you hate water so much? I mean did someone try to drown you or – or…"

"Way to ruin the moment, Mon," she blushed as he continued, "I dunno, nothing bad to me ever happened in water, that I can remember. I just hate being wet…and cold… "

Monica broke apart from him, placing her hands on her hips, "That's it?! That's the big reason that you hate water?!"

Chandler smiled, "Sometimes things are a lot more simple than they seem, Mon," she shook her head, "Like us."

Her surprise and anger subsided as she sunk back into his embrace, allowing him to once again pepper her skin with soft affections.

In between kisses, Monica whispered, "You're what I've been waiting for all along, Chandler, and I'm **never **going to let you go."

**_A/N: _**_Whoo, that was long! And very sappy. Anyway, yeah, I hope it didn't suck too much. I suck at finishing fics. :/ It probably should've been a few chapters longer, but I dunno, I felt like I needed to end it. I want to move on. I hope this didn't ruin everything. :( Anyway, please leave me one final review. Oh and try to be nice – it's my 17th birthday today! Right-o, I should study until I have to leave for my exam. Thanks for sticking with this! Expect a new fic in the near future! :)_


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